


Fear Not

by SailUncharted



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Violence, Body Horror, Dark, Drug Use, Dubious Morality, Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Grim Reapers, Hurt/Comfort, Keith is a demon, Kinda, Lance is a reaper, M/M, Political Undertones, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Temporary Character Death, Underage Drinking, it takes place in hell, people gunna die but, so i'd hope you understand that the morals are grey, they're like 100 but also coded as teenagers, unapologetic use of mushroom imagery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:14:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25534171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailUncharted/pseuds/SailUncharted
Summary: Tonight was Lance's last chance to be himself before the ceremony. There’d be no turning back; once he summoned a Demon, he’d be a full-fledged reaper for Hell.Turning a hundred with his friends was more important than stuffy rituals. It was essential that tonight be a night to remember. Every hour, every minute was planned for optimal debauchery. Yet, in all of those plans and all those group messages, not a single one mentioned an Angel attack.
Relationships: Allura/Pidge | Katie Holt, Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 58
Kudos: 55





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this was my novel for AMM last year and it was just too dark, too political, and too mature for YA/publication. Honestly, it was my first novel and I wrote it as a Klance fic then changed everyone's names. So I just changed them back. 
> 
> I wrote this while I was writing Star Cursed with Autumn and if you've read Star Cursed, you'll see a lot of similarities. I also wrote this in like... two months or something stupid while dealing with my cat having cancer and while morning his loss so...I'll try my best to clean it up, but this is what it is. Mostly I'd just be sad if this never saw the light of day because I worked really hard on this idea
> 
> You'll just have to trust me on the temp character death, I won't let you down, no one will be perma dead I swear. I also grappled with a lot of the horror that I put into this because almost everyone is some kind of marginalized character. I'm stating now that I'm open to hearing how you feel as you read. I write to learn and there's a lot of bad takes in the world and I try not to be part of them. 
> 
> welp, now that you've been bored to tears, thank you for reading the intro and please enjoy the story~

~💀~

Lance lapped at the sin clinging to the air like smoke. The sin mixed with the alcohol in his system, pulling him higher. Soon he could feast on souls, if he ever made it to the ceremony. 

Guilt for ditching irritated its way into his consciousness, and the only cure was more alcohol. Lance shoved his way through the sweaty dance floor to the bar. Tonight was his last chance to be himself before the ceremony. There’d be no turning back; once he summoned a Demon, he’d be a full-fledged reaper for Hell.

The group chat with Pidge and their friends had been nothing but party plans for the last two months, to the point where Pidge had muted it. They’d told Lance that he was banned from texting. Not that it stopped him- he was too excited. Turning a hundred with his friends was more important than stuffy rituals. It was essential that tonight be a night to remember. Every hour, every _minute_ was planned for optimal debauchery. Yet in all of those plans and all those group messages, not a single one mentioned an Angel attack.

...

The bass pounded in Lance’s chest like a second heartbeat as he threw back his birthday shot. The tequila turned molten inside him, bursting into a fire that rose to his cheeks. He slammed the glass down. 

“Another!”

“Slow down. I still need my college fund after tonight.” Pidge glared through the smoke. Despite the late hour and the weed in their system, their hazel eyes were clear and bright.

“Oh, c’mon. It’s my birthday.” The sweet smoke of the club burned his lungs and mixed with the alcohol in his system. All the tension of his upcoming Centennial was melting away. “You love me.” He poked Pidge’s cheek.

“Barely.” Pidge stole Lance’s wallet from his back pocket with nimble fingers. They backed up, waving it as they left. “My treat.”

“I’ll remember that on _your_ birthday,” he called after them. 

A text rattled his phone. Flipping open the group chat, a blurry picture of the club from the other side of the room loaded. He pinched it open, zooming in past the peace sign to see himself pixelated and taking a shot. He turned to find Allura already waving at him from her tinsel-covered DJ booth.

Allura’s white pigtails swung as she jumped to get his attention. Lance snorted. Allura might’ve been a late addition to their little group, but it was definitely more exciting with her around. She DJ’d on Wednesdays, which meant they got in for free. And honestly, what were friends for if not free admission to mostly-illegal clubs in Angel territory?

Pidge returned with two shots, handing one over. They both threw them back and slammed the glasses onto the table.

“I think I’m drunk enough to dance.” The liquid melted Lance’s tense muscles and eased the itch of guilt. 

“You were drunk enough thirty minutes ago, lush. What kind of teenager are you anyway?”

“You say while downing your sixth shot.” Deflection was the best way to lie. Maybe in a hundred more years he could pass as twenty, but by then Pidge would be long gone. He shivered.

“Shut up and dance.” Pidge interrupted his spiral and pushed him into the sea of black pants and fishnet. Lance’s own pastel color pallet stood out in the dim of the club.

Right. No death tonight, only fun. Lance let himself be pushed around for a solid verse before he’d had enough. Pidge screamed something that he missed, probably about getting closer to Allura since they took off for the stage. More and more he was becoming the third wheel in their tiny circle. Stuff like _that,_ like the way found each other in a crowd, wasn’t for him. Death didn’t have feelings; his only job was to take. 

Lance let the bass drown out his thoughts. It was his birthday; there was no time for self-pity.

Pupils blown wide over his brown eyes, Lance fixated on the lasers. They lit the smoke a hypotonic green as they flashed through the haze. He breathed it in, letting the smell of marijuana and the decay of mortality fill him. 

Twirling his fingers in the smoke as he danced. His feet grew numb against the vibrating floor, even through the thick soles of his Doc Martens. Anonymous bodies pressed hot and sticky against his skin. Neither the numbness nor the high stopped him from screaming the lyrics as the music overwhelmed him. 

The club was set up in an old warehouse at the edge of the city and wasn’t built for so many people crammed into the space. It was less a club and more a bunch of teens who got together and broke in on the weekend. A few adults in college supplied booze and collected money. It was all very punk rock. 

The downside was twofold: the first being that it sat squarely in the territory of the Angelic Reapers of Coel as their own contrived test for mortals, the second being that it was the only club in town that allowed underage entry. So, everyone from thirteen to twenty who had the balls to show up, did. Which meant everyone was packed from wall to wall.

He dodged the groups sitting against support beams, careful not to step on any fingers as they nuzzled in their cuddle puddles. Even as he stepped around them, he tried to stay close. The air was permeated with pleasure as they ran their hands through soft hair or down bare thighs. Lance wanted to join them and experience pleasure first hand. The Sanctuary didn’t need to know. He could plop himself down and let them run their clumsy fingers across his skin. Maybe then he’d finally know what all the fuss was about, what it was like to enjoy someone else.

A tug on his sleeve stopped him. Thinking it was another drunk trying to get him to dance, he turned with a ‘no’ ready on his lips. But as soon as he turned, she pulled away with a yelp.

Right. His face paint. Pidge had painted half-faced skulls on all three of them. It would probably freak anyone out on a bad trip. Only it didn’t. Her face softened and she pulled him close, cold fingers curling around his neck

 _Lucky_. She was exactly Lance’s type with her dark eyes and high cheekbones. It was too loud to talk, so he listened to her body language. That earned him a smile. Immediately, she took over, silently setting the pace. He followed her lead, dancing to her beat instead of the music.

She moved his hands to her waist as she maneuvered him into a corner by one of the cuddle puddles. Her hand traveled down his chest, fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt as she pulled him closer. Lance registered how close they were, their mouths breathing each other’s breath and he wondered if they were about to make out. He wondered _if_ he wanted to make out. 

Then, the world flashed black. Blinking, he wasn’t sure if the lights had burst. They glitched back on, like a corrupted video. 

Ram horns curled from the girl’s platinum hair, stretching the skin over them before they burst through. She blinked, her pupils elongating across her brown eyes. He yelped and pushed her away. She bleated at him as her face sprouted fur.

Okay, he was way too high. Time to get some water. Turning, he bumped into an owl-faced monster that screeched at him. Out. He needed out. This was a bad trip.

The world glitched again and sweaty bodies pressed against him again. Gasping for breath, Lance tried to worm his way out. He couldn’t move. There were too many. 

“Miss me?” Lance turned towards the voice. A pair of hands cupped his face, tilting his it up. Dark, almost black eyes held his gaze. There was something sweet and soft about those eyes. They were a calming breeze, like the wind through a cave, cooling his thoughts and relaxing his body. 

The strange man had the same eyes as the girl he’d been dancing with - not the goat eyes, the eyes before they’d turned. Which were nicer and less nightmare-ish. Ram’s horns curled up around his head and back to his ears. His black hair fell down to his elbows with half of it pulled up into a messy braid. The tips of the loose strands brushed against Lance’s bare arms. 

Lance licked his lips, trying to taste the soul of this stranger. Nothing. The air was too polluted with leaking souls to tell him from the rest of the club.

Thudding beats drowned out whatever the man was trying to say. 

Lance yelled a “ _What?”_ back. 

The man grinned and blew his bangs from his face with a huff. They fluttered and fell, brushing against Lance’s forehead. Not to mention his jaw. If Lance had his scythe, he could sharpen it on that jaw. If only his own face was half as beautiful. It wasn’t fair. This guy was too perfect, there was no he was mortal. He rivaled the golden tapestries of the Morning Star himself. 

He tugged Lance close so that their bodies aligned, chest to chest and hips to hips. It was more intoxicating than all the sin in the air and all the alcohol in his blood. The club around him blurred. All he could focus on were those dark eyes and that stupidly perfect face. 

Lance relaxed into strong arms and rolled his hips. This guy wasn’t _all_ delicate features. Solid and very real muscles rippled under his shirt as they moved together. He let himself be carried away. Bliss sparked through his veins and blurred the animalistic faces of the once-people around him. The strong hands were loose on his waist as if to say he could leave at any time, but Lance smirked, knowing he wouldn’t be going anywhere. 

He ran his hands over the firm chest in front of him, the material snagging on his nails. Like the rest of the crowd, the man was dressed all in black with only fishnet covering the hard muscle of his abs. As he was the only person in the club _not_ wearing black, Lance couldn’t hold the man’s homogeny against him. 

Synth treble overtook thumping bass as violins screeched through the speakers. No - it wasn’t coming from the speakers, the dirge was all around him. The half-animals screamed the song as one. Their mouths formed the unearthly notes in one Hellish chorus. Skin-covered drums pounded, pounded, pounded in his ears.

Everything spun. Goat heads blurred into screech owls as the room tilted on its axis. The lights fuzzed and glitched in the heavy smoke.It was too loud to talk and too loud to hear. The hymn buzzed in his ears, his brain unable to distinguish one note from the next. It was too much. He needed to sit down, he needed to get away.

Strobe lights took over the lasers, lighting the whole club as if it were morning. With every flash, Lance could see the normal club, clear and dirty and still in the midst of dancing. With every blink, Lance was thrown back into Hell. The layers of reality zipped and fuzzed as they pixelated into each other. 

_Snap_.

The two planes aligned, and everything was back to normal. No animal faces, no horns, and no screaming over pounding drums.

Lance gasped. The transition was a punch to his stomach as he slammed into reality. Sweat trickled down his cheek and his knees gave out from under him. The only thing holding him up was the stranger’s strong arms.

 _Get out_ , Lance told himself, but he couldn’t move. Under the man’s gaze, he was a puppet on strings.

“I need to leave. I gotta get out of here,” Lance whispered to himself.

The stranger huffed, sending his choppy bangs into the air. Lance expected his breath to smell like stale alcohol, but instead he was hit by the scent of cypress and mint. It was... Nice? Disgustingly nice. Everything about the dude was sickly perfect, like a decadent poison.

“You were always free to go.” And somehow Lance could hear it, dark and soft like grave dirt. 

The strings snapped and he could move again. So why wasn’t he moving? Lance wanted to search for his friends, but those dark eyes pulled him in again.

“What’s your name?” the man whispered in that same earthen voice. 

He wanted to stay and flirt. He really, _really_ did. But that hadn’t been a bad trip, he was sure that the Demon plane had shifted into reality. And if his training had taught him anything, that meant a horror had just crossed over. He needed to find Pidge and get them and Allura out of here. Everyone was in danger. 

“I said,” the man shouted over the music, “what’s your name?”

“Lance.” He scanned the crowd for Pidge’s fauxhawk. The crowd was full of fauxhawks. His ears popped, sending the music crashing through the drone.

“I found you.”

“Huh?” Lance focused back on the guy in front of him. What was he on about? The music was louder than before after the silence. 

His voice pushed through the noise like a shovel cutting into the earth. “You can call me Keith.” 

“Look. You’re hot, don’t get me wrong, but I gotta go.” Lance removed the hands from around his waist and stepped back. 

“Wait.” Keith’s whole hand enveloped his wrist. Lance stared down at it as if he could glare it away. “Why not stay here with me?”

This dude couldn’t be serious. “I take back the part about being hot,” he said, voice disappearing into the music around them. It piled on top of itself, growing for a bass drop.

 _There._ Pidge’s head bounced under the DJ platform as they waved at Allura. 

He twisted out of Keith’s grip and flipped him the bird with one perfectly painted finger. “Don’t come near me again.”

Keith held up his hands in surrender _._

Lance couldn’t run to Pidge with the amount of thankfully human-faced bodies around. Pidge might as well have been on the other side of the state. 

Lance finally made it to Pidge and was about to grab their shoulder when the lights exploded with a crack. Sparks showered down on the crowd.

A breath, and then the whole club went dark.

The only light was the flash of green laser beams as they danced above their heads. It distorted the shadows and shifted faces into monsters. 

Music scratched to a halt and a mic clicked on with the thunk of passing hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to [Mintusti](https://twitter.com/mintusti) for pushing me and keeping me motivated. Without her this would've never been written. I can't even begin to explain how much she helped. This is as much her story as it is mine.
> 
> Also thanks to [Autumn Ignited](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) for being patient with me writing this while we were writing Star Cursed and helping me with AMM and being an all around cheerleader. They also beta'd and there's not enough words in the world for me to say how much I love them.
> 
> My favorite in the whole world is art by [Nikole ](https://twitter.com/NKephir) i'm speechless it's so beautiful T_T
> 
> Super duper thanks to all of you for giving it a chance and reading my first novel that was a very blatant Klance fic XD I didn't even try to hide it :x this was my first time world building by myself so....i leaned pretty hard on Star Cursed. 
> 
> I'm also on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd) and I'm actively posting on my pseudo: [SailUnchartedWaters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlassAlice/pseuds/SailUnchartedWaters)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: blood
> 
> I wrote this chapter to [Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Heads Will Roll ](https://open.spotify.com/track/18oWEPapjNt32E6sCM6VLb?si=TzMixnnsTe-5UiZGEUoN-A)
> 
> Special thanks to [Mintusti](https://twitter.com/mintusti) for following me from fanfiction to novel writing and being my biggest cheerleader as well as my friend and my beta

~ 💀 ~

“Sinners!” The speakers squealed with feedback. “Your attention, please. I, the illustrious Anoxis Fetch Gladden, am here as a judge of your sins. I, in all my glory, have found each and every one of you - Guilty.” 

Shit. Not a _Coel_. Whatever had broken through the divide must’ve attracted the attention of the Angelic reapers. He was going to be in deep shit if he got caught by a Coel.

A spotlight blinded Lance as it searched for whoever was talking. It settled on a tall man with hair so blond it disappeared in the gamma. He looked bald with a shimmering halo of hair that only appeared when he moved. 

“Get off the fucking stage,” someone behind Lance yelled, while another threw a half-full beer. The spray of half-drunk beer arced as it splashed on Anoxis Gladden’s pristine robes. The bottle itself missed, clattering as it slid across the floor. Not a bad throw for a drunk.

“Please, please, hold your applause. I know you are all very excited that I have personally come to gift you with your much-awaited end.”

“Turn the music back on!” The crowd boo’ed and hissed in their drunkenness. People around him jumped with their fists in the air as they cursed at the stage. 

“Gabriel, would you mind?” Coel Gladden asked of the fluttering visage behind him. The mass was swathed in so many feathers that it was hard to see what sort of creature this Gabriel was.

That was probably the only upside to this situation. With so many mortals around, looking at an Angel would mean a lot of burnt eyeballs. 

It screeched as the mass of plumage spun like a wheel. More peeled off from the central clump, spinning in different directions around and inside each other. Concentric circles of feathers with the Angel itself as the point of origin. 

Lance slammed his hands over his ears as he tried to scream. Instead, he choked. 

The room was immediately silent, no booing or hissing or yelling. He could barely hear anyone breathing. _A throat binding_. His own throat was locked up and his lips refused to move. 

Pidge was still in front of him, staring up at the reaper on the stage. Allura, though, was missing. 

With a twirl of his wrist, the Coel pulled his scythe from the necklace that hung over the starburst pattern embroidered over his heart. Judging from his robes and his companion, he was a Rex Coel. The highest of the high and summoner of a Named Angel. Not just an Angel, a warrior _Archangel_. 

Telling himself that Allura was still alive, he grabbed Pidge’s arm. There was no risk of them yelling out and drawing attention since everyone was bound.

“Much better. This place is overflowing with lust and gluttony. For your crimes against God I, chosen of Heaven, sentence you to--” He raised a hand over his head, scythe glinting in the lasers. “Death.” The scythe echoed as it slammed against the stage. “Please form an orderly line so that I can send you to your maker with ease.” He dropped the mic and it scratched through the speakers.

Chaos.

Noiseless, slow chaos. Like running in a dream and going nowhere. 

The Coel Reaper jumped from the stage and brought his scythe down on the first person. His robes fluttered as he fell, expanding out behind him like wings. The blade sliced through a girl no older than fourteen. The boy next to her screamed, mouth open and silent.

Red blood stained their faces and soaked into their black clothes as they ran. The scythe reaped through them like corn, slicing down the stocks of their bodies. Gabriel floated behind him, only a mouth covered in feathers as he sucked up the souls. 

_Shit._ What Lance wouldn’t give for a scythe. Ditching his ceremony in exchange for a high. 

Stupid, stupid, _stupid_. 

If he’d gone, at least he’d have a way to protect his friends. Then again, if he’d gone, his friends would be here without him and they’d probably be dead. 

That wasn’t the point. The point was, he was scythe-less, Demon-less, and therefore, powerless. 

Something tugged his arm forward and he realized he still had hold of Pidge’s wrist. Pidge pulled him through the mass toward the stage, which put them way too close to the scythe’s range. 

“I smite thee, in the name of God!” Coel Gladden cackled, high pitched and manic. Blood dripped down his face in streaks. The bastard actually stopped his reaping to lick the blood and moan. 

_Fuck, Coel were freaky motherfuckers._ Still, it meant the Angelic reaper wasn’t looking at them.

Lance took advantage of the reapers’ distraction to hoist Pidge onto the stage, following them to the DJ booth. He breathed a sigh of relief when blond hair peeked out from behind the tensile. _‘Allura!’_ he tried to yell, forgetting that his voice was locked. Suppressing his choak, he crawled under the booth to join her. 

Lance winced; he could taste the terror in the air, sharp and electric-sour.

All three of them linked hands. Their breaths were drowned out by the squelch and crack of slaughter. Whenever Lance had imagined reaping, it was him sitting next to a hospice bed gently carving the soul from a tired and weary body. 

It wasn’t _this._ This was cruel. 

Nausea tugged his stomach to his throat. The acid burned as he swallowed it back down. 

Pidge trembled as they peeked around the booth. The thunk, thunk, thunk of the bodies as they slammed to the floor was amplified by the concrete walls of the warehouse. He could follow the pattern of the killing by the sound of bodies dropping and blade tearing through flesh.

Morbid curiosity pulled him to peek out the other side. He watched as people fell to their bellies, scraping gore onto themselves as they tried to play dead. 

It wouldn’t work. There was no playing dead. There was no escape. This reaper was demented. 

Lance crawled back in and grabbed Pidge by the collar. _“Don’t,”_ he mouthed. 

Pidge shoved him off. Their hand trembled against his and lines of fear creased their brow. Lance fisted his own shaking hands and nodded at Pidge. What the nod meant, he wasn’t sure. Maybe something like _I’ll get us out of here,_ or _don’t worry, we won’t die,_ whatever it was he meant, Pidge nodded back as if they understood.

Allura buried her face in Pidge’s shoulder, darkening their sleeve with snot and tears. Pidge wrapped their arm around her head, tucking her close. That sent Allura over the edge, her body heaving with silent sobs. Lance was thankful for the bind keeping them that much safer.

A snap of a bone and a gasp was the only warning.

Music pounded back to life, happy EDM bouncing through the club. Sound crashed into Lance’s ears: the gurgle of throats as soulless bodies gasped for air, the screams of the few survivors that lifted up like some kind of twisted prayer. Allura’s sobs, Pidge’s shallow breaths, and the low song of the reaper. All of it happened at the same time.

Lance screamed. It ripped from his throat, desperate and guttural. His own voice joined the cacophony a the soloist in the choir, 

The Coel’s shoes clacked on the concrete floor of the club as he sang low under the bubbly music. The dirge claimed the souls for Heaven as he stepped in time to his death march, completely out of sync to Allura’s playlist. Her bright EDM mix turned to fuzz in Lance’s ears as he strained to listen for the reaper’s movement.

Lasers still glowed in the fog, lighting up the stage with green. They all sat there for a lifetime and then another. They sat there so long that whenever Lance moved his legs they shot through with static. Aching to run, it was everything he could do to stay still. 

The DJ booth was barely cover for one, let alone _three_. Wires hung like vines from the soundboard above them, twisting all the way to the floor. Black gaff tape tied them down to keep people from tripping on them. That was good. Good for their escape. He silently thanked the sound technician. It was probably Allura.

They all took shallow breaths. Slow. muffled. 

“Check for stragglers,” Anoxis Gladden’s cheerful voice commanded. His heels squelched in the gore as he approached the stage. 

Squish, click, squish, slip, squeak.

Brown outlined Lance’s vision as his head floated from his body. He fisted his fingers into his jeans, trying to find the ground and doing his best not to faint.

“Run,” Pidge said, more air than sound. 

Allura shook her head and Lance was inclined to agree. There was no running. There was only the end of a blade as their souls were reaped for Heaven. Would he be reborn as a Coel reaper? He wasn’t sure. How many of his kind had been reaped by Coel, anyway? Zero, thousands, it was impossible to know. Nothing like this had never been covered at Sanctuary. 

“Now!” Pidge pulled him and Allura by the hand. 

All three of them stumbled out of the DJ booth. His neon pink Doc Martens thunked against the hollow stage as Anoxis’ head turned toward them.

Allura took the lead, still holding onto Pidge’s hand. 

“I have a key to the stage door.” Allura fumbled with her free hand, pulling a card from her back pocket. Her voice was more smooth and calm than the bloodless tips of her fingers belied. 

“What do we have here? Stray souls who were too overcome by my presence to show themselves until now. My darlings, fear not for my blade is still thirsty.”

Gabriel screamed again, a never-ending drone that propelled them forwards as they slipped and slid towards the backstage door. Lance’s shoes squeaked. It was everything he could do to not fall butt-first in the gore. 

Allura pulled a keycard from her back pocket and touched the entry pad. It blinked green as the lock thunked. 

“Not so fast my little sin-lings.” 

The light blinked to red just as Allura pulled on the handle, lock thunking shut. 

All three of them exchanged glances. _I won’t let you die here,_ he tried to say with his eyes. He wasn’t mortal. Okay, he could die, but unlike mortals, he came back. That was better than dead- _dead._

Apparently, his eye-message was lost because, as if on cue, Pidge and Allura sprinted off in opposite directions. Lance turned, back to the door as Anoxis paused.

“Dirty little mice, there’s nowhere to run.” Anoxis turned, following Allura. “Take care of those two, they’re below me.”

Gabriel blinked its many eyes and opened its wide mouths. All together the mouths overlapped each other as it said, “Yes, Anoxis.” The Angel turned on Allura, wings spinning. 

Lance shuttered. Demons were nothing to fawn over, but Angels were hideous.

“Don’t look at it!” he yelled at them as they ran. There was no escape, no matter where Lance ran, he was in striking distance of the reaper’s scythe. 

“A little Dae here all alone? Where is your Demon?” Anoxis grinned. The smile was a razor that slit open his face to bare red-stained fangs.

Lance turned his attention to the most dangerous thing in the room, the reaper’s scythe. The gold of its blade was dull in the low light and the silver skeleton that held the blade in place stared at Lance with its hollow eyes. The tip of it was pointed at his neck.

“Look, I don’t have a Demon. Just let us go.” Lance shook his head, changing tactics. _He_ could be reborn. “Just let them go.” 

“How dare you lie when such pure magnificence is before you.” The tip of the scythe swept in a low arch, stopping right under Lance’s chin. It pressed like a needle into the soft flesh. “Anyone can see that you're dripping with corruption. It's a disease that courses through your veins,” Gadden’s voice plucked each word as sweetly as a harp, but his breath turned sour in the air.

Lance was about to retort when Allura screamed. He hissed as he turned, the tip of the scythe cutting open his chin. He cupped it as he scanned the room. Pidge was standing in front of Allura, fists up and ready to fight. They were fine. Not _that fine_ since Pidge thought they could punch an Angel and win, but close enough. Neither of them were dead and that’s all he could hope for.

“My, my, my. What an admirable little knight. Are you planning on saving the poor mortals?” Anoxis sliced the air where Lance had been a moment before.

He let out a breath in thanks for his training. That was close. _Lucifer, Lilith, and Satan_ , he was so utterly fucked. There was no way of getting out of this. 

His shoes slipped on something he didn’t really want to think about. Lance spun his arms to catch his balance.

“I’m going to send you back to Hell where you can fester and then, I’ll reap your little friends. Slice their souls out as slow as possible. Then they’ll be trapped forever where you’ll never be able to see them again.” The scythe raised. “Now, hold still. I don’t want this to be over too quickly.”

“Wait, what?” Oh… sick. This guy was demented. Lance jumped back, avoiding another swing by the threads of his shirt. The blood trickling down his neck slowed as the wound healed. Being demi-mortal had its perks. Or its downsides, when this maniac was around. He didn’t want to see how long it would take for Anoxis to finally kill him if he held still. 

Every muscle in his body strained to run towards his friends, but an Angel was less dangerous than the business end of a scythe. He had to keep Anoxis busy and also somehow find a way for his friends to escape. 

Lance slipped around a concrete pillar, Anoxis right on his heels. 

Anosix crossed himself and pressed his hands together as he ran. “Dear Michael, why are the insignificant pests always the hardest to exterminate.”

“Maybe because you’re a shitty exterminator.” Lance slid behind a pillar and closed his eyes, bracing himself for what he was about to do. Anoxis slowed down, his squelching steps getting closer. Lance bent, pressing his back into the cold concrete. 

“Satan forgive me,” he muttered, scooping up a handful of filth on the floor. The floor tilted as nausea rose in his throat. He swallowed and breathed through it, holding tightly to consciousness against the awful thing he was about to do. 

The concrete cracked and shattered around him as the scythe swept clean through right over his head. An inch higher and he would’ve been dead.

Standing and spinning, he flung the filth at Anoxis’ face. The dark muck splattered across his mouth and fell in globs down his pristine cloak. 

They both stood there staring at what Lance had done, neither moving. 

Anoxis wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and Lance took off. He ducked low as he ran, weaving between pillars. With each one he passed, he ran his hands along their sides to wipe off the gore.

“God forgive him, for he knows not what he does.” Anoxis dragged his scythe on the ground, sparking and cracking the floor. His footsteps were sure and slow. The footsteps of someone who already knew they won. “The vile creature can only know sin. He and his kind nest in their dens, accumulating souls of the damned.”

Lance jumped over bodies and slipped on entrails. There was nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. He was trapped and cornering himself with every step. 

Anoxis smashed pillar after pillar. Concrete beams fell to his blade as he walked steadily closer. Dust and particles of sheetrock rained down as another support sliced in half. “As he has sent souls to the grave, so do I send his soul to you this very day. A holy act of justice by my hand. I smite him for you, oh Micheal, oh God, and send him back to the trash he rose from. I pray that you wait until he learns his lesson before his rebirth.”

The few times Lance’d met a Coel reaper, they’d always prayed for his soul. Never before had one prayed for his death. Did God listen more to Coel than he did to Dae? He hoped not. He was, after all, one of his children as well. Just...a more disobedient one.

Sending up his own prayer to not be murdered, he turned. Slipping and scrambling to his feet, he ran parallel to the wall. 

Crack. Another pillar fell. 

Crack, crack, crack.

Lance wasn’t sure how many supports were needed before a building collapsed, but he was sure that they were running out of time before he found out. He glanced up. A giant crack spiderwebbed out from the central pillar. _Not good._

He was running out of floor. The wall blocked him from turning and the stage blocked him from retreating. Lance slammed against the wall to come to a stop and scrambled for the stage. 

_No._

Pidge and Allura were on the other side. He was supposed to lead Anoxis _away_. Slowly, he turned to come face to face with the reaper.

“The rat finally holds still, good boy.” Anoxis raised his scythe above his head. “Ashes to ashes and dust to dust, your bones to meal and your soul to rust.”

God was on his side that day. Pity for the poor, Lance supposed.

Before the scythe could sever his head from his neck, the ceiling fell. Fiberglass and plywood crashed down around him, burning him. He watched Anoxis jump to safety before the dust clouded his vision. 

Anoxis cackled. “The rat is finally caught in a trap. Tomorrow the world will be free of one more vermin thanks to me,” he said, his voice resonated like a plucked string that faded as it passed through the layers of fiberglass.

Lance squeezed his eyes shut. Everything hurt. He was pretty sure that a piece of sheetrock had fallen directly on his head. Dust and fiberglass clogged his nose. Every breath was cutting and sharp. 

The fiberglass itched as it dug into his skin. It sank into his lungs with every breath, cutting tiny lines into the delicate membranes. He could feel his lungs constrict against the glass, ripping him open from the inside.

He couldn’t give up. If he did everything was lost. Pidge and Allura’s souls would be Heaven’s for some sick dick size game over soul numbers. Lance’s death meant nothing if he couldn’t get _them_ out.

Arms trembling, he pulled himself to a small opening, big enough to get his face into air. Not quite _fresh_ air, but it was better than breathing in debris. 

He squinted, dust burning his eyes. The ceiling had collapsed on one side, but the other still hung on. Pieces of it swung dangerously near the gaping hole above him.

Anoxis’ lips peeled away from his teeth in a skeletal grin as he stepped delicately over the rubble. 

“So easy. Pathetic. I thought you’d at least squirm a little. Alas, I don’t get to play longer. It is my duty to send you back to Hell. Bonne nuit, petite faucheuse.” The scythe swung down. He watched it gleam as the skeleton holding the blade smiled at him, welcoming him to death.

Lance blinked and Anoxis was gone. He blinked again, unsure of what had happened and if he was still alive. 

His lungs still burned, so he must’ve been alive.

Anoxis slammed into the wall with a crunch. Lance strained to see, but the tiny hole only allowed him a narrow window.

“You know, this would’ve been easier if you’d stayed with me,” a familiar voice said from behind him, soft as grave dirt and equally cold.

“You,” Lance hissed.

Keith stepped into his field of vision and squatted down. “You sure made a mess.”

“Me? I didn’t do this.” How dare this imp try and blame _him,_ as if _he’d_ been the one to murder an entire club.

“You. And yes you did.” Keith sighed as he pulled vent piping off Lance and threw it across the room. 

Lance sucked in a desperate, painful breath. That had been the majority of the weight on top of him and now that it was gone it was so much easier to breathe. 

“Lucifer knows why I got stuck with you,” Keith grumbled. 

Cracking and shifting drywall distracted Keith from his attempts to unearth Lance. He craned his neck to try and see what had caught the demon’s attention. It was unnecessary.

“Foul beast. Filth. Rot. Diseased plague. How dare you touch me, you _Demon_.” 

Keith turned back to Lance, throwing another piece of debris across the room.

Lance was free. He stood up just in time to see the chunk of concrete knock Anoxis to the ground. _Shit._

“Your friends are waiting for you.” Keith handed him Allura’s key card. “I’ll take care of him”

“Why?” Lance glanced around for his friends but neither them nor the Angel were there. 

Keith smiled as he cracked his knuckles. “You’ll find out soon enough, Dae Ophir.”

“Not cryptic at all.” Lance gripped the card, the edge of it cutting into his palm. 

“Fiend!” Anoxis ran at them, scythe ready to strike.

Keith caught the scythe by the pole and twisted. It clattered to the ground, slicing off the head of a corpse. “Run. _Now_.” 

Lance ran. He did his best to pay attention to where he was going, but his eyes drifted back to Keith’s fight. He was holding his own against a full-fledged reaper. How powerful was this demon? It didn’t even look like he was breaking a sweat. 

Well, to be fair, he’d worn down Anoxis before Keith stepped in. 

Lance tore his eyes away and focused on the stage door. He’d light a candle for Keith at the Sanctuary, but he’d actually have to be alive to make it there.

The door opened with a beep and a clang. Warm night air hit him, pulling sweat from his already nervous body. It was so quiet behind the warehouse. The stars shone above him, dull in the light of the city. Lance stared up at them, watching them twinkle as he attempted to catch his breath. 

Pidge threw themselves at Lance, knocking him back. Allura attacked from the side, hugging him tight. 

“I thought you were dead,” Pidge said, face buried in Lance’s chest.

Allura wiped her tears on his shirt. “The ceiling fell. That guy said you were fine, but I didn’t want to leave.” 

“I’m fine. You shouldn’t touch me, I’m covered in fiberglass.” That didn’t stop Lance from pulling his friends closer. 

Pidge smacked him. “You're awful and I hate you and I’m glad you’re not dead.”

Lance needed Pidge’s banter after that. It felt normal, grounding, safe. “Aww, that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Shut up, no it’s not.”

“It’s close.” Lance leaned against his friends, letting them hold him up. “Are you okay? That feathered beast, did it hurt you?”

Allura shook her head. “No, it was trying to talk to us.”

“I think it was preaching.” Pidge’s face pinched. They never enjoyed talking about religion and didn’t like it when Lance brought up his desire for redemption. It always sent Pidge into a rant. “I tried not to listen.”

“It wanted us to go with it. I think it was trying to save us.”

“Well, I don’t need to be saved.” Pidge pulled away and grabbed Allura’s hand. “I can save myself. You shouldn’t listen to monsters.”

“I don’t care what you say. I’m gonna listen to any cryptid that tries to talk to me.” Allura shrugged, lacing her fingers between Pidge’s. 

“Alien brain,” Pidge said, chiding but fond.

They were doing that more often now, touching each other and having conversations he’d never been a part of. He let Allura go and she tucked herself into Pidge’s side. Biting his lip, he did his best to ignore the pain of seeing them so close. 

_Remember, death doesn’t love._

The faint sound of sirens grew louder until their hiding spot was filled with red and blue flashing lights. They needed to get moving. The building next to them was an abandoned business complex, but after that there was a gym not too far. 

Lance nodded towards the complex. “We should get out of here.” 

“Yeah.” Pidge tugged Allura and Lance followed behind.

Abandoning the thought of making it back to Pidge’s beat up Sedan, they made their way through the back end of the complex. There was no light, and to avoid being noticed, they collectively agreed not to use their phones until they were far away from the police.

The industrial park was mostly cracked asphalt and faded white lines. The building itself was covered in graffiti and was missing most of its windows. They cut behind it, following the parking lot around to a loading zone and dumpster. 

Trashed packed into the forgotten dumpster rustled in the night breeze. Rats scurried and gnawed on the couches and chairs left for someone else to clean up. Broken TVs and piles of speaker boxes took up most of the space. Lance jumped as a rat boldly crossed his path. 

“That’s it, I’m using my phone,” he said, holding his thumb threateningly over the flashlight button 

Pidge batted at him. “Not yet.”

“There’s rats. I’m using it,” he hissed, holding it out of their reach.

“Shh.” Allura pointed to a raccoon who had paused and was staring at them. Its eyes flashed laser-bright in the night. It grunted and bobbed its head as it watched them. “I think we’re trespassing.”

“Don’t look at it and don’t run,” Pidge warned.

Lance pressed close to Pidge’s back. “I’d really rather run, thanks.” 

“Shut up,” Allura hissed, cutting them both off.

The raccoon growled, crouching down. 

“Nevermind,” Allura squeaked. She sprinted, pulling Pidge from Lance’s grasp.

“Move. Move. Move,” Pidge called out behind them.

The racoon sprung forward and Lance ran. 

He ran even though he was tired of running. He wanted to go home and tuck himself into bed and not have to think about trying to explain why he missed the summoning. Not think about all the dead bodies that’d be found by the Coel with the stench of Demon and Dae. 

He wasn’t even sure he wanted to be a reaper anymore. Had he been okay with this in his past lives? Had he never stopped to wonder why a reaper of Coel would slaughter an entire warehouse of mortals? And why would God let such things happen? 

His brain was mashed potatoes and his feet were lead. All of that planning and excitement for his birthday was a waste. What a shitty birthday party.

The three of them stopped outside of the gym, huffing. 

“I think we’re safe now.” Pidge spat on the sidewalk, wiping their mouth with the back of their hand. “The Hell was that?”

“A psycho killer.” Allura pulled her long hair over her shoulder, fanning her neck. “I guess a gun wasn’t good enough.”

“Then how do you explain the feathered monster? That wasn’t a mass shooter turned LARPer killer. That was…” Pidge sucked on their teeth in thought.

“Best left for the police to figure out,” Lance interjected.

“That’s cold, Lance.” Pidge leaned against the brick wall, fishing in their jeans. They pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “What?” they asked Allura’s pointed glare.

“You promised.” 

“Yeah, well, that was really stressful.” 

“You still _promised_.” Allura crossed her arms, glare threatening to turn Pidge into stone.

“Ugh, fine.” Pidge threw the pack on the ground. “You happy? Can’t even calm down with one cigarette.” 

Allura leaned in and kissed their cheek. “Thanks.”

Lance stared. That was the first time he’d seen either of them kiss the other. He’d suspected something was going on, but neither of them had said a word. The kiss looked so comfortable, too. Something they did all the time. The way that Pidge melted, their edges softening at the press of Allura’s lips. A kiss that was well practiced and welcome. 

He turned to the street. “Let’s go home.”

Despite the chaos two buildings down, the gym was quiet and unoccupied. They slipped onto the sidewalk unnoticed. 

Pidge lived close and apparently Allura was going to stay the night. Like Hell he was going to be a third wheel. 

After tight hugs and whispered assertions that they were all safe now, Lance left. He had a big day of explaining ahead of him after all.

...

He snuck into the Sanctuary without anyone noticing. The church doors clicked shut behind him. All the lights were off except the candles that burned along the side walls. Their smoke twisted and curled their way to blacken the already sooty ceiling. 

Lance spared a thought for the candle he’d promised Keith. Tomorrow. He’d burn it with a prayer and everything, to Lucifer himself. 

Pulling back the tapestry, he slipped through the hidden door into the back of the Sanctuary. A curling staircase spun in dizzying circles as it winded down into the darkness. Lance pressed as close to the wall as he could to put as much distance between him and the chasm. 

Supposedly it was an entrance to Hell itself, but Lance didn’t really feel like testing that theory on his birthday.

Flight after flight of endless darkness, Lance slinked his way to his room. 

Once he was inside, Lance let himself relax. 

Without stopping, he marched straight for the bathroom. He stood there, under his fluorescent lights. The pastel blue of his shirt was muddied by dust and blood. It was completely ruined. No amount of cleaning would ever fix it. He shucked it off, throwing it in a pile in the corner. A shower and then bed. He deserved at least that. 

Tomorrow he’d take his punishment and hopefully collect his Demon, but until then he was going to sleep like the dead. 

The shower was warm and soothing. All of the dust and gunk and gore washed away down the drain. He watched the grime swirl, the patterns reminding him of the bloody footprints in the club. 

Lance’s eyes blurred and the only thing he could see was the massacre. 

He stayed in the shower until the water ran cold. He wanted to stay longer to wash out his brain, the thoughts that poured through him, blasphemous and frozen. His prayer had been answered. He was home, but what about the others? At least a hundred mortals were slaughtered. And while he didn’t personally do it, and while it wasn’t his sect, it was still a reaper. It meant he was capable of that. 

At any point, he could pick up his scythe and slaughter as many souls as he liked. There were rules, of course. Rules he deeply believed in:

_Reap only sinful souls_

_Reap only when the soul is ripe_

_Reap enough souls and receive the key to Heaven, forgiveness_

How could God let that reaper kill all those people? An Angelic reaper should only reap holy souls ready to ascend to Heaven. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that they were God’s favorite and the Dea…

He rubbed the goosebumps on his arms and turned off the freezing water. It wasn’t fair that he was happy that it was _his_ friends that had escaped. 

Dripping wet, he stepped out of the shower. The towel was warm and fluffy and smelled like home. He wrapped it around his shoulder and buried his nose in it. Home. He was home and safe. Everything else could come later. Lance dried off and found a fresh shirt to sleep in. 

His carved bed waited for him with feather pillows and thick comforters. Snuggling down between the sheets, sleep claimed him. He dropped into restless dreams of Angel attacks and purple Demon’s eyes. 

Lance blinked, heady and sluggish, to stare up into four sets of eyes and curling horns that sprouted from long hair. Leathery wings rose high into the air, almost grazing the ceiling. “Keith,” was all he could say before darkness overtook him.

 _Lance,_ a voice called. It purred across his skin and down his neck. _Did you enjoy my gift?_

Keith slipped into his dream and they were back at the club. Everything was the same; the concrete beams were repaired and there were people dancing all around them. Keith’s body shifted. One second he was purple eyes and strong hands as he pulled him close, the next he was Demon horns and too many eyes. “Put me back,” Lance demanded of the dream. 

Keith’s mouth didn’t move as he spoke, “What if I want to play more?” The disembodied voice caressed down his arm.

“I’m not some mortal, I’m a Dae Reaper. You’ve done enough damage.”

“Oh, but I haven't. Foolish, fallen Angel. Foolish coward too scared to fight his way to Heaven and steal the power of immortality for himself. Naive reaper. Lowest of the low. Embarrassment to Lucifer himself.” 

“Sticks and stones. Get to the point.” Lance may not have stolen his immortality back after the Fall like the Demons had, but at least he still had a chance at redemption. He’d put lifetime after lifetime of work into reaping souls. He was surely close to forgiveness by now. There was no way he’d trade all that work to become an immortal demon.

“I have no point. You, my sweet shadow that walks between life and death, are at my mercy.” 

“I’ll force myself to wake up, then.” Lance pinched himself. 

Keith’s low chuckle cut across his skin. “That’s cute. Are you going to slap your cheeks next? You can’t escape me, I’m stronger than you.” 

Realization ran like sleet down his spine. “You’re a Named.”

The laugh ricocheted off of him, slicing against his soul. Lance crouched down, covering his head with his hands to protect his face. Long ribbons of blood tickled as they streamed down to the unseen floor. The club disappeared into smoke, leaving Lance in a dark void.

“Stop! What do you want with me?”

“You, tiny insignificant pawn, are going to get me what I want.”

“If I’m a pawn then I don’t have the power to get you whatever it is that you want. So just leave me alone and go back to Hell.”

The voice was right in his face, a finger curled under his chin and lifted his head as if it were a physical hand. “ _War_.”

...

Lance’s eyes flew open and he stared up at the painting on the ceiling. Air never quite filled his lungs as he gasped. 

The painted women above him danced and fell into each other’s laps, laughing and unaware of his dread. 

Keith wanted a war? 

That didn’t make any sense. Lance had nothing to do with any wars, he was a reaper. A fallen Angel doomed to roam the earth collecting mortal souls until his own body failed him, and then reborn to do it again. He wasn’t part of the war between Angels and Demons. None of them were. Sure, reapers worked alongside Demons and Angels to collect souls for them to use, but it was a symbiotic relationship. The immortals needed souls to fuel their war and reapers needed souls for redemption. But they weren't _part_ of the war.

Lance gripped his sheets as his breath slowed. It was fine. Keith was just messing with him. Tomorrow he’d summon his Demon and then Keith could never mess with him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Bonne nuit, petite faucheuse: Good night, little reaper
> 
> Yo, look, its ch 2! woo! 
> 
> Anoxis Fetch Gladden was based on Lotor for a really long time before he grew his own personality, so I didn't change his name back~ 
> 
> If you want to know what I'd named them Lance turned into Seth and Keith turned into Gile (I'll explain that in later chapters) Pidge became Keat and Allura became Chandra. I quite liked the names I'd given them, but I'm biased because I made them up XD
> 
> Try on my twitter for size [Twitter](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd) and I'm actively posting stories on my other pseudo: [SailUnchartedWaters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlassAlice/pseuds/SailUnchartedWaters) with Autumn Ignited


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to [Mintusti](https://twitter.com/mintusti) for being an amazing beta <3
> 
> Check out my [Twitter](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd)
> 
> CW: more blood

~ 💀 ~

Lance raised his hands above him. “Mother of Demons and Father of sin, we are your children.” The congregation shifted, veiled faces moving to form a circle. Lance let his hand fall to the shoulder next to him. “Lilith, blessed be the fallen of Eve. Lucifer, blessed be the fallen of God.” 

He knew the ritual so well that he didn’t have to think. No matter how tired he was from his troubled nightmares, he’d never mess up. “We serve you to serve God. We serve God to serve you.”

He formed runes with his hands, Death with his left and Life with his right. “We are the balance, we are the judges, we are the next to be redeemed.”

Aphisopholies had spoken to Praxus about letting Lance have his ceremony today after service. She’d had to beg Praxus and pull some very _very_ old favors with the Rex to convince him to talk to the Council. It had taken some more talking and Lance also begging until the Council had conceded. 

All the others had summoned their Demons while he was getting high and fighting Angels. Thankfully, he didn’t get in too much trouble. Since the Angel attack was reported to the Council by one of the Rex and it was confirmed that all who had been there were slaughtered by the Coel Reaper. 

Apparently it had become a big deal. So big that reapers of both factions had been gathered up to investigate causing all sorts of mayhem throughout the city. it was easy for Lance to just nod along that he’d been caught up in one of the blockades making him late.

That, and that alone, was probably the only reason he was given a second chance.

The congregation broke apart from the circle. They hummed low and rose into song that rang against the high ceiling and stained glass. One by one, they filed into the pews, leaving Lance alone.

“Today we have our last Adept who was unable to make it to the ceremony because of a Coel attack,” Aphisopholies said, her silver hair shining under the colored glass. The patches of rainbow shards sparkled over her ebony skin. 

The lie was meant to let Lance save face but it only deepened his guilt. One more reminder that he’d made a mistake deeper than the simple act of rebellion. It clawed at his gut as he tried to keep his face neutral. 

Lance tugged at his long sleeves and fiddled with the double-breasted coat that was stiff from disuse. He only wore the uniform on special occasions and ceremonies hosted by the Rexes. The worst part of the entire outfit wasn’t how uncomfortable it was, but the drabness of it. The ruff under his neck, the high collared shirt (that thankfully protected him from the itchy wool), the coat, and trousers were gray, gray, black. 

Ugh. Dae were so _stuffy_. He’d kill to be able to wear his jeans to this dumb ceremony. The whole thing looked like a cartoon’s attempt at the occult. 

If Pidge saw this they’d never let him live it down. They’d probably call him an edgelord for the rest of his life. 

Standing among the congregation in the Sanctuary was like standing in the crowd of a rock concert. A very formal rock concert. Wait. Was a formal rock concert a funeral? Probably. Though Lance had never gone to one, it seemed about the same. Lots of people in black there to see one person, music and drinking, even tears. He should visit one and see how much they mirrored each other. Lance sighed and fiddled with the phone in his pocket.

There was still time. He could run away with Pidge and they could ride trains from town to town. Pidge could find a job doing special effects makeup and Lance could get a job. Heck Allura could join and DJ across the land. 

He could be all around human…-ish. 

Well, Pidge would do something like that anyway. Probably with Allura, not him. Then they would both die, leaving him behind. He might even be the one to reap their souls. 

Lance shoved the thoughts away.

He’d ask Pidge after to see if they could get him tickets to a funeral. It had to be more entertaining than _this_ and he should know what a funeral was like so he knew what to do for Pidge’s.

Lance looked up at the gilded podium. This was where he belonged, but it didn’t mean this was where he wanted to be.

Aphisopholies continued to drone on from above. He had no idea why since everyone else had already summoned their Demons. 

Next to him on the other side of the altar, the newly minted Adepts craned their necks to catch even a glimpse of Aphisopholies. He’d seen quite enough of her and preferred to stare at the six-pointed compass in gilded gold above her head.

Dea Rex Aphisopholies, born 1219, Master of Marquis Phenex, and a complete bore. 

Also his mother’s lover. 

When she was young, his mother had told him that Aphisopholies had hair so dark it made the night jealous. But now her hair had turned the color of starlight. And honestly, gag. He did not need his mother waxing poetic over an ancient Rex.

She might still beautiful, in a noble, stuck up, and _rambling about nothing_ kind of way. But even reapers faded, whether they were Rexes or not. 

Praxus was proof of that. _He_ was the eldest Rex and keeper of the most powerful summon of any reaper alive. His Demon was Grand Prince Stolas, the crowned owl itself. It sat with its spindly legs and sharp talons digging into Praxus’ shoulder as it stared down at them. 

Lance suppressed a shutter. He better not get anything like the creepy owl or even Aphisopholies’ majestic phoenix. 

_Please by all that is unholy,_ Lance prayed, _please Lucifer, give me a normal looking one. Oh, and not Keith. Amen._

Aphisopholies finally, _finally_ finished her speech and stepped down. _Praise Hell_. 

A piano twinkled in low from the side before being met with an organ. Lance hated how overdramatic Dae were. They always had to make everything so spectacular. Just give him his damn Demon so he could go hang with Pidge. 

Unfortunately, Aphisopholies was replaced by his mom. _Ugh_. Was every Rex going to speak today? Her long black hair, darker and thicker than his own, fell over a bare shoulder, catching the same light that her lover had.

The Rexs didn't have to wear these dumb, stuffy uniforms. They were able to wear whatever they wanted. Lance was infinitely jealous of that. The only reason he was glad she was his mother was because of the resemblance. She was deceptively soft, with her brown doe eyes and thin frame that was half the height of any of the other acolytes. Tawny skin shone umber in the candlelight and almost made her look human. 

Their beauty was something they shared in common. But unlike Inés’ curves and thick frame, he mostly took after his dad, tall and spindly, and laughed too loud. 

Inés had apparently decided his suffering wasn’t over. Not that either her or her demon, the Great Duke Aym, were ever satisfied with his suffering.

He’d grown up with Aym and drank from Aym his whole life, all one hundred years of it, and Aym still freaked him out. The fact that the Demon had three heads was probably the biggest reason. It didn’t matter where Lance stood one of those animal heads would stare at him.

Worst of all, because his mother summoned a Great Duke, _he_ was expected to summon something of equal caliber. His father had summoned a lesser, no-named Incubus, yet no one was pressuring him to summon one of those. 

He ignored his mother’s speech as well. None of it mattered. 

This whole ceremony didn’t matter. It wasn’t like any of them _needed_ so much pomp to summon Demons. His phone vibrated in his pocket and his fingers twitched to check it. It was probably Pidge wanting to talk about the other night. It took all of his self control not to check it. Still, he slipped his hand in his pocket and unlocked it blindly. Just as a comfort.

Aym leaned over and whispered with its calf head into his Inés’ ear. She didn’t miss a beat in her speech but she did find time to glare at him. 

_Caught_. Stupid Demon snitch. Reapers had good hearing, but not that good. Aym was such a bastard. 

By the time the summoning began his phone had vibrated five times and he had aged another century. 

Lance raised his hands to Lucifer. He stared into the glass eyes, their pupilless vision seeming to look right through him.

The great hall of the Sanctuary was made of ancient stonework from the Gothic era. Vaulted ceilings rose above them impossibly high and large stain glass depicted the fall of Lucifer. Lucifer sat at the top in all his Hellish glory, under him some of the fallen Angels roamed the earth feasting on souls. Those were the reapers. 

From the bottom, a line of Demons climbed their way to Lucifer as they fought their way back to Heaven. Not pictured, were how the Demons stole back their immortality and used it to carve out Hell. 

The opposite side showed the reapers summoning Demons, the noblest of Demons deciding the fate of the reapers. He could name each and every reaper pictured. That was because as a child he’d daydream about how one of them was him in a past life, summoning a prince of Hell. 

Now that he was grown, he knew how foolish a dream that was. Hopefully, he'll take after his father and get a no-name Demon with one head and a minimum number of eyes. 

His mother stopped talking and Lance straightened his back. Finally. He stepped up and bowed to the Rexes. 

Praxus held up his right hand in a pledge. “A baptism of blood will bind your soul. Are you ready to serve your God?”

“Yes,” Lance held up his own hand and said it because he was supposed to. No other answer was acceptable. Imagine if he had the guts to say that he wanted to run away and they could keep their Demon? The thought made him smile. He’d never do it, but it was nice to think.

Holding out his hand, Rex Aphisopholies descended with a ceremonial knife. She took his hand and raised it above her head. It gleamed in the candlelight, sharp and thick with old blood. She brought it down and sliced a jagged line across his palm. He hissed as he held it out. Thick red drops fell to the floor and mixed with the summoning circle. 

He dipped his finger into his palm and drew the rune of summoning on his forehead, a single line across and a single line down the center, passed his nose and over his lips.

The blood boiled and popped as it turned from red to black. Lance held his breath at the stench. Burning blood was foul. The blood scabbed and cracked on the stone, peeling away and flying into the air. 

That was new. He’d seen many Demon summonings in his hundred years, and not once had the blood scabbed.

The smell got worse. Rot and carrion filled the air, making Lance gag. Breathing through his mouth was arguably worse because he could _taste_ it. It burned his eyes and buried itself in his nose. He’d be smelling it for months. Years. 

Vaguely he could feel everyone staring and whispering behind him. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.

Lance stepped back, burying his nose in his elbow. Not even the thick wool of his jacket could filter the stench. 

Thunderstruck outside the window, shaking the glass and snuffing out the candles. Rain poured from Heaven as the Angels wept. Murmurs around him grew louder and some of the voices broke through. “Named Demon--” “Of course his mother--” “Another Lord is born.”

 _Fuck_. 

Not an incubus then.

Black and red smoke streamed from the burnt blood. It billowed up and up and up to the vaulted ceilings. Lance blinked through the smoke, squinting to see what monstrosity he’d summoned. A roar shook the building to its foundation and Lance fell onto his ass. If he screamed, no one would’ve been able to tell over the growling of the Demon as it crawled its way out of Hell. 

With the smoke stinging his eyes and the stench stinging his throat, he watched a giant paw covered in sharp talons scrape at the cracked stone floor. A face not unlike a cat but with too many eyes pulled its way to the surface. Thick black fur covered the whole beast and wings like a dragon lifted to the sky as if in prayer. It was as big as a werewolf, or bigger, at least the size of a car. Lance didn’t feel like he was about to make a pact; he felt like he was about to be _eaten_.

 _You, Lance Ophir, have interrupted my work. Do you take responsibility?_ Its voice was gravel through grave dirt. That voice. Where had he heard that voice before? It was so animalistic that Lance wasn’t sure why it would be even close to familiar. 

“Yes?” Lance squeaked. He wasn’t going to die, right? Had anyone ever died during a summoning? If they had, Lance wasn’t sure if it would be public knowledge. The Demon took a step forward.

It shifted.

_What is my name?_

That didn’t make any sense. Naming was only for no-named lesser Demons. There was no way _he_ was a lesser Demon. 

A low warning growl vibrated through Lance. 

“Uh, Keith?” He coughed. Naming a Demon after a hot guy at a club was probably normal. The Demon even sounded like him so it was fine. “I gift you the name Keith. I’ve summoned you to the mortal realm to share with you the delights held within.” The recitation came easily despite the shaking of his hands. He stood, and bowed his head. “I ask that in return you grant me fifty percent of the souls we send to Hell.”

_Our fates are sealed together until I drag your soul down to your death._

“To Hell together, a bitter end,” Lance finished. He held out his palm, offering his blood. It had already congealed and was sticky against his fingers.

Keith stepped a mighty paw forward and bent his head. He took Lance’s arm in his mouth, more delicately than he’d thought possible. Multiple rows of needle sharp teeth sunk into his flesh and a rough tongue lapped at the blood. Lance winced, biting his lip to keep from screaming. He’d never felt such fiery pain as a Demon bite. His arm shook with the effort of keeping still.

Licking his muzzle, Keith let go. The black mouth was dark with blood and glistened in the candlelight. Keith bent a wing and scratched the leathery skin with one claw. Silvery ooze seeped out.

Demons didn’t have blood and Lance had never tasted grace before. He watched as the thick liquid bubbled into clumps. The wing was held out and Lance cringed as it got closer. It, too, smelled like rot. _Don’t gag. Don’t gag. Don’t gag._

With a tiny flick of his tongue, he lapped the smallest bit he could into his mouth. At first, it tasted putrid. As rotted a Demon’s soul. Then it changed. Grew flowery and sweet. He almost opened his mouth to lick more when the wing was taken away. 

“Our souls are entwined, fallen one to fallen one,” Keith said, his voice normal. It was almost as sweet as the grace had been.

“Are you not a Demon lord?” Praxus’ voice boomed across the hall. “You lie to the reapers and dishonor our ceremony.” 

“Children of Darkness,” Keith said, calmly and softly yet it overtook Praxus’s shouting easily. “I do not lie. I am the Demon of lost things and my name is Keith.”

Praxus looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel. “Stolas has told me you lie. You lie!” The demon owl hopped and hooted in agreement.

Keith hissed, his voice sounding like a glitched song played in reverse. Lance couldn’t understand what he was saying, but Praxus’s eyes grew wide and his owl squeezed itself into a thin line. 

Stolas bent it’s crowned head and whispered into Praxus’s ear. 

Praxus swallowed and brushed Stolas from his shoulder. “The Demon of lost things, Keith, has completed his bond.” 

“Seriously?” Lance stared up in confusion. How could they let this pass? It was such an obvious lie. But… Now he wouldn’t have to become aa Rex and could keep partying with Pidge. On the other hand, the fact that he’d summoned a Demon so obviously powerful was dangerous. 

“We sing our closing hymn!” Praxus shouted, banging his hand on the wooden railing.

Lance turned to sit in his usual pew, a short one at the very back. The further away he was from Aym the better. Keith followed him on all fours. 

“I know what you are,” he whispered as he sat down. “You’re not fooling me.”

“Of course you know. I never tried to hide it.”

“You attacked me. Twice.” Lance hit the wooden pew, his knuckles thudding dully.

“Shh.” A pretty adept with a cat-like Demon turned to shush him. She glared to make sure Lance knew exactly _how_ much he annoyed her. 

Ugh. Dropping his voice back to a whisper, he leaned over, “You’re going to stay out of my dreams and out of my way. There isn’t going to be any kind of war. I’m going to earn my redemption and you’re going to help me. Got it?”

Keith smiled and it made all four of his fox eyes turn into half moons. “No,” he said, sitting down on his rump.

Lance was half out of his seat, ready to strangle that smile right off Keith’s face before he realized where he was. Falling back into his seat, he flicked Keith on his furry ear. “Why are you a fox-thing anyway? You didn’t look like this at the club.”

Keith shrugged his huge shoulders and rested his head on the back of the pew. “Traveling to the mortal realm and then immediately fighting with an Angel wore me out. I’ll go back to normal after I rest and eat.” 

Lance lifted his veil as the congregation broke out into song. “C’mon, you can rest in my room.”

“I don’t need to.” Keith melted. Or at least that’s what it looked like to Lance. Darkness overtook his whole form and he slipped into the floor. Lance’s shadow turned midnight black. He lifted an arm, watching the shadow move with him and shift inside itself. 

_I can rest here._

“That’s not creepy.” It didn’t feel like anything, but it was strange to think that his shadow could hold a whole-ass Demon inside.

Praxus stood to give the announcements. His brittle voice clipped as he read from his sheet, “The Rexes will be holding a meeting on the twentieth floor. It will be off limits during the hours of midnight to three. Our newest Adept will be limited to the area around the Sanctuary, you’re free to reap near the hospital, but you’re forbidden from entering Coel territory. Tomorrow’s mass...” and so on. Lance tuned him out in favor of texting Pidge.

He’d spent the whole service denying himself the pleasure of the outside world. Now he was finally free to indulge. Thankfully his pew of choice was right next to the exit. 

In one smooth movement, he was out the door without a single person noticing.

Pulling off his veil, he wandered down to his room. He had to use the hallway door since the main door was occupied by the congregation.

His shadow bulged against the wall as he descended the stairs to the nineteenth floor. Most of the Sanctuary was underground with the floor numbers increasing the further down it went. 

_Is service over? Hurry up, I need to talk to you_

It was so unfair that Pidge’s church was only an hour long. _Almost done, then I have to finish my quota_ Shit, he had a quota now. 

_Good. I made depression nachos, get over here as soon as you finish_

_That serious, huh?_ Lance grinned as he hit send.

“Who is _Piss Off_?”

Lance slammed his phone to his chest a little too hard, hiding the screen. “Keith!” he hissed, “You can’t just read someone else’s texts.”

“That won’t stop me, I can read them without looking at the screen.” Keith ripped from his shadow, stepping lightly onto the stairs. He pawed next to him, not caring that the stairs had no railing and dropped into what was probably Hell. Though, Lance guessed, a demon probably _didn’t_ care about that.

Keith rolled all four of his eyes.

_Bzzz_

“Honestly, I think it’s serious enough for panic lasagna,” Keith said with a smug grin.

“Wha...” No, that didn’t make sense. Wait, was Keith... Unlocking his phone, he double checked.

 _Honestly, I think it’s serious enough for panic lasagna_ _  
_ _So don’t be late_

_Don’t let it turn into breakdown casserole, and we’ll be okay_

Lance shoved his phone into his pocket, his nail catching in the wool. “Not cool. I don’t appreciate you reading my texts. I don’t appreciate you here at all.”

“You’re the one who summoned me. And seemed to like licking me.” The fire and brimstone smirk did nothing for Lance. Honestly.

“And you’re the one that answered. Don’t you have more important things to deal with in Hell?”

“The important thing is to destroy Heaven." Keith ruffled his wings with pride. “And now that I’m here I can do that.”

“Great. Well, you’re on your own. I’m going reaping before I head over to Pidge’s.” 

Keith’s eyes widened and drool fell in long ribbons to the floor. “We’re going to eat?” he asked in more of a purr.

“ _I’m_ going reaping. You’re doing whatever you do.”

“I go where you go. So, what I do is follow you to the delicious souls.” 

“I thought you were all about war.”

“Performing both is well within my power.” 

Lance growled under his breath. The way that it came out as a fact and didn’t sound like bragging graded on Lance’s nerves. It was hard to have a full blown argument because there were other reapers who were skipping on the stairs with their nosy Demons. There were too many ears and eyes for a decent row. “We’ll talk about this later.”

Keith agreed for some unknown reason and walked beside him in silence. He didn’t breathe; what should’ve been a slow rise and fall of his ribcage was as still as death. 

Pidge sent a selfie, interrupting his breathing thoughts. Their short hair was pulled up into a fauxhawk and the honey blonde strands glittering from a filter with the caption _It’s a slippery slope between lasagna and casserole._ They glared, deadpan at the camera. Pidge looked hot and he told them so.

 _Shut up loser_ _  
_ _But for real, I need to talk to you_

Pidge was so cute sometimes even when they were overreacting. Most likely it was Allura problems that could be solved with a pep talk and a horror movie night.

Another picture loaded. This time they were flipping the bird. 

_Very mature,_ he added.

No reply. He’d take that as a win. He stuffed his phone back into his pocket and realized that they’d made it to the nineteenth floor.

“Hey fox face, we’re here.” 

Keith looked up at him with a single pair of eyes. “I’m not a fox.”

“Well whatever you are, we’re here.” Lance nodded towards the door. “I gotta leave, so, see you around.”

“You cannot go anywhere without me.” His words were a growl at the back of his throat.

Lance ignored him as he marched to his room. Screw this, he had plans. 

Keith made himself comfortable on the bed while Lance dug through his clothes. He did his best to ignore the Demon watching him. 

His new Adept uniform was waiting for him, pressed and hanging in front of his closet. The sight of it was confusing. 

Running his hand down the heavy fabric that he’d seen on so many Adapts, the weight of what he was and what he had to do fell over him. His fingers caught on the silver chain of a necklace. The scythe in miniature dangled from the end. More than the club, more than the summoning, more than his endless lessons on duty- _this_ shocked him into reality.

A thing like reaping was his destiny. A thing he was meant to become. There hadn't ever been a choice. It was the path of his soul, and he’d always chosen it or he wouldn’t be here today. The finality of that pressed down on his head and curled his shoulders down. Stuck in an endless loop until he was forgiven. He clutched the fabric. The thin chain wove between his fingers and the sharp end of the scythe cut into his wounded hand. 

Choice. 

This was his choice, he decided, because if he didn’t he might fail before he even started. Lance took the necklace off the hanger and secured it around his neck. No one was forcing him to do this. This was his choice.

Soon his church clothes were in a pile on the floor and he was in his reaping uniform. He stuffed a change of clothes in his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. The green coat brushed against the floor and clutched his neck. Silver buttons lined the breast and cuffs. It opened in the front to show off his trousers and pressed shirt. 

“You look like a cucumber.”

“No one asked you.” Lance stuck out his tongue. Keith could go right back to Hell. “It’s traditional.”

“So is marriage between a man and a woman and yet look at your mother.” 

“Wow. Who let you out of your cage?”

“You did.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “I’m not talking to you anymore. Go start your war or whatever.”

Keith stretched, digging his claws into the comforter. The fabric ripped as he jumped to the floor. “No. It’s not time.”

“You tore my sheets,” Lance said, gaping at the fluff sticking out in white puffs. He’d thought he’d summoned a Demon not a house cat. “What are you going to do next, scratch my furniture?” 

“When you’re not looking.” Keith’s smile was razor sharp and mocking. “Now, you owe me souls,” 

Okay, he a-little-bit owed the Demon souls, that was part of the bargain, but Keith didn’t have to be so rude about it. 

Nineteen flights back up and Lance stepped out of the Sanctuary. 

He stretched, feeling the moon on his face. “Ow, shit.” 

His arm spasmed. The cut across his palm was almost healed but the bite mark was still fresh and raw. It stood out pink and puffy across his brown skin. _Stupid fox._

“Again, not a fox. And again, I’m always listening to you. Your head is a constant stream. Unfortunately, with the kind of blather that goes through it, I don’t think anyone would blame me if I dragged you to Hell early.”

“Keith.” Lance spun to find the Demon sitting back on his haunches. “I said I was doing this alone.”

“And I said I go where you go.”

“You’re too big. The mortals are going to notice a fox the size of a car hopping around town. And I don’t want you in my shadow. It’s weird.”

Keith cocked his head and licked his delicate whiskers with a forked tongue. “I have to look like you.” It wasn’t a question. Lance wasn’t even sure if Keith was talking to him.

“Yeah, I guess. So, sorry, no fox multi-eyed winged beasts. Not sorry.” Lance turned to leave. From the corner of his eye, he caught Keith glowing. “What are you doing?”

There was no answer. Slowly, said wings folded back into Keith’s skin, almost melting. The silver Grace pooled around them and matted his fur. His face overlapped with itself, flickering in and out of existence as it blurred together. 

Lance stepped back. What was the Demon doing? Well, besides looking like he’d stepped out of a horror movie. “Stop that. Whatever you’re doing. Don’t.”

Keith didn’t stop, instead, his bones snapped and shifted under his fur. 

Lance decided that the sound of bones breaking wasn’t his thing. He could live the rest of his life without hearing that again and be happy. 

The fur melted under the silver and hardened with a sheen of moonlight. Keith’s whole body was covered in the strange substance. It made him look like a molten statue. 

Then, the goo froze. It hardened around Keith like armor. 

Lines cracked through the silver sheen. The cracks widened and spread like spider webs blossoming out. The whole thing shattered and Lance held up his arm to protect his face. 

Keith was a parasite bursting out from its host. But, instead of a fox Demon with too many eyes and bat wings, a boy around his age stood before him. The only thing that distinguished him from humans were the double set of curling horns around his head and the strange slit of his eye. 

He looked exactly like he had at the club. 

“Woah.” Lance closed the distance between them, getting close to inspect Keith’s human face. “How did you do that?”

“How does one do anything?” Keith asked, flipping his long black hair over his shoulder. “I asked.”

“Asked _who_.” 

“The fallen one himself. The star of God that was cast out because of his own vanity. Lucifer, lord of the damned.”

“I know who Lucifer is,” Lance said, irritation sparking in his voice. “And he wouldn’t just grant wishes willy nilly.”

“This form is essential to my role as your demon. So, he has granted it to me.” 

Lance didn’t want to admit it was cool if a little gross. “Fine you can come along, but you leave as soon as we’re done hunting." 

Black smoke and the acrid smell of decay filled the spot where Keith had stood. 

"What in Hell's name…" 

_I’m just along for the ride,_ Keith’s voice filled his head. _Don’t mind me._

God forgive him now so he could finish this Hell cycle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~(._.)~ i hope you enjoyed!
> 
> I write dumb threads on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd) and I'm actively posting stories on my other pseudo: [SailUnchartedWaters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlassAlice/pseuds/SailUnchartedWaters) with Autumn Ignited


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cw: Child Abuse (this scene will also contain homophobic slurs) marked with: || start ||   
> this will mark the end of the abuse: || pause ||   
> this will mark the end of the scene: || end ||
> 
> Amazing art by [jillibeeean](https://twitter.com/jillibeeean)

~💀 ~

Lance leaped to a window of the neighboring building, twisting like a cat. He grabbed onto the sill and jumped. Silent as the moon above him, he hoisted himself to the rooftop and ran. A silhouette against the starless sky, his coat unfurled like wings behind him. 

The thrill of freedom tugged at his heart until it was racing as fast as he was. How the mortals lived such slow lives, he’d never understood. As he ran, he could feel the pull of souls under him, begging to be reaped. That was his job after all, to reap the souls of the wicked. Whatever that meant. Wickedness was judged by Angels, but unfallen and fallen, not him. 

If he were born back when Angels walked the earth to keep the reapers in line, it might be different. He might, back then, have cared about the corrupted souls that hid among the bright ones, tasting of oil and salt. Fattening, delicious. His mouth watered as he licked his lips. He’d eaten so much today, but he was still hungry. Lance wasn’t used to Keith taking his share. 

A particularly delicious scent hit him so hard he came to a full stop. Whipping off his necklace, he tossed it in the air. It spun, catching the moonlight as it grew. The point cut through the night air as it spun. Lance snatched it by the handle. 

Time for dinner.

Dropping down from the roof, his shirt flew up. The breeze played with his stomach and wicked the sweat from his skin. It was cool and gentle. 

Landing silently, he stalked forward. He could taste it, heady and ripe and disgustingly decadent. The silver scythe was as hungry for the soul as he was. It pulled him faster, guiding him to a small window.

Peeking inside, he could make out a bed inside what could only be a child’s room. White painted metal looped on three sides, enclosing the mattress. A messy blanket lay at the foot. Lance couldn’t place the cartoon but it looked pink and very sparkly. The rest of the room was bare besides a lone dresser he could see the corner of. The child was nowhere to be seen but a man stood inside the room.

|| Start ||

Lance’s tongue flicked out to taste the air. Raging and drunk. Perfect. The kid was in there, Lance could taste her soul too, unripe and too sweet. He hated eating children. Gave him a stomach ache. The question was, where was she?

The man got down on all fours and dragged a child from under the bed by her hair. Ah, that was why he tasted so good. An abuser. There must’ve been a reason God fixed their palette to cherish sin, but Lance didn’t care. One more soul for Hell and a full belly before bed. Win-win. There was no need to think about the philosophical morals of God when dinner was standing right in front of him.

“No girl of mine is going to hide under a bed.”

Lance paused. Flicked the air again, tasting the child’s soul. Fear, terror, confusion. Cold trickled down his spine and red crept into the corners of his vision.

A slap from the other side of the window had Lance breaking the glass. 

Fighting Anoxis had taken some of his power and confronting Keith had taken more, but this was a mortal man who was  _ food _ . Lance wouldn’t lose.

Glass crunched under his Doc Martens as he hefted himself through the window to the surprised protests of the drunk. “Good evening,” Lance said politely, his scythe scraping against the wooden floor. “Sorry about your window, but you’ll be dead soon, so it won’t matter.” 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” The man was still holding the girl by her hair. 

“Let her go. I don’t want her to see this.”

“Get the  _ fuck _ out of my  _ house!”  _ The man was red faced and shaking. He took a step forward and the girl yelped as her hair was dragged with his fist. 

“I don’t think so,” Lance said, appearing behind him. His scythe sunk easily into the mortal flesh. This close it was so easy. It’d be even easier if he sunk it straight into his chest, got right over his heart. But he didn’t. He wasn’t going to let this man have the easy way out. The slow trickle of the soul was all he needed. Lance could feel strength seeping into his bones as he drank. It was so nice to be able to take souls for himself.

The man tried to turn but he grabbed him by the neck, crushing against his jugular. His heart beat like a bird trying against a cage, thumping against Lance’s fingertips. “Not so fast. Drop her.” 

The man did. “Fuck you,” he said, voice pinched. “I can do what I want to my own daughter without some fag coming through my window.” 

Lance’s shadow lengthened and grew, swallowing the whole room. The little girl scampered back under her bed. 

|| pause ||

Darkness bloomed around them, opening like a flower with Lance in the center. 

“Eating without me.” Keith’s voice echoed in the room. “Against the rules, isn’t it?”

“I think not telling me your name was against the rules in the first place.” Lance shifted and his shoes squeaked. Looking down, he cringed as the smell hit him. “Did you  _ have _ to piss yourself. I mean I know the Demon aura is like, pretty hardcore, but this is a bit overkill.” He tisked. Now he’d have to wash his shoes.

“Don’t be mad at him,” Keith said, voice all around the room. “He does not know what he does.”

“Is misquoting the Bible a quirk of yours or do you just like to be insufferable?” He squeezed the man’s neck harder to distract himself. 

“I’d be careful, little Dae. My sense of humor only goes so far and your control doesn’t go far enough,” the darkness said.

Asshole still hadn’t shown himself and he could taste the fear from the kid under the bed. It hurt. He should just finish this quickly and get out of here so that Keith couldn’t do anything Lance didn’t want.

Now that Keith was nice and close, eating souls was as easy as breathing. Hooking his scythe into the sweating skin, Lance pulled. The soul popped free like a lollipop from a reddened mouth as the body split in half. He did this to save her, she’d be free from her uncle or father or whoever he’d just killed. Didn’t matter, he was definitely an asshole.

“You did good, little Dae.”

“Fuck off, Keith. I don’t need you.” Wow. His mouth was on a roll, apparently he did want to die by Demon claws. Speaking of. “Could you maybe not dig your claws into my throat?”

“You will show me respect, I am a Lord of Hell and  _ you _ are the soul I get to drag down with me.”

Lance swallowed, his skin bruising against the unseen. “Sorry. I can’t control my mouth sometimes. I didn’t mean- I’m sorry.” 

The claws left with a chuckle that filled the whole room. “Such a good Dae.”

“I have a name.”

“And I don’t care.”

“I should’ve expected that,” Lance grumbled as he rubbed his throat and took a deep, shuddering breath. Closing his eyes, he did his best to put on a disarming smile. Getting on all fours, he crawled over to the bed.

Two brown eyes blinked up at him and scuttled back. 

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m Lance and that mean guy isn’t going to hurt you anymore.”

To his abject horror, tears welled in the brown eyes and ran down pale cheeks. “What did you do to my dad?”

Great. No gratitude and she was crying. Exactly how he wanted this night to go. “Woah, no need to cry. He was a bad guy. He’s in Hell now. He won’t bother you anymore.” Lance reached in to pull her out.

“He was my dad!” The little shit actually tried to bite him. White teeth snapping, barely missing his finger. 

|| end ||

When he’d smashed through the window with plans of being Batman, he didn’t expect to be bitten. Or, well, almost bitten.

He scrambled back and his hand touched dampness. “Oh fucking Hell.” Strangled, almost bitten, and peed on. Tonight started as a failure and was stacking up to be even worse. “Fine, stay there. I don’t care.” Lance wiped his hand on the wood floor but it did almost nothing to clean his hand. With a frustrated growl, he stalked to the window. “And you,” he said to Keith, “are an ass.”

Laughter followed him out the window. Lance was pretty sure that Keith was sticking to his shadow. Ugh. 

If he was going to follow him, he should at least have to go through the trials of a physical body trying to dodge chimneys and air conditioning units quietly.

“With all due respect-" Which there was none due. "Why are you still here?"

"We're hunting," Keith said, nonchalant. His voice wasn't the ribbing from before or the Hellish growl from the summoning. This sounded almost… normal. Like when they were dancing at the club.

Normal was worse. Normal made him sound like a person. 

"I'm not hunting. I just thought that the world was better off without that one guy was all." 

"Is it?" 

"Is it what, your majesty?" Lance muttered.

"Is this world better off?" 

"Of course it is. One less drunken bigot better." 

Lance could hear Keith’s smile cutting into his words, "That child has no parents because of you and you left it to die. I'm assuming you wanted the rabid thing to live." 

"Her." 

"Her life may not have been flowers and roses before, but now she’s parentless and alone and it’s your fault." 

Lance paused. Hellfire, he hated Demons. They always made sense in the worst ways. He needed to do something to make sure she was okay, that someone would be there to take care of her. "I'll go back and…" 

"And what? Bring her to the Sanctuary? She'd die as soon as she stepped in." Keith rose from his shadow, curling horns, leathery wings, and half naked. Apparently shirts weren’t in fashion in Hell. 

“Take her to the cops. She has to have other family.” Lance turned, heading back to the house.

“Or she doesn’t.” Keith leaned in close, whispering in his ear. His hooves weren’t touching the ground; instead, they were tucked up away from the asphalt as he floated alongside him. 

Lance wasn’t sure if that was because he was showing off or if he was too prissy to touch mortal soil. 

“And you’ve stolen the only roof over her head and the only food from her belly. Silly reaper, you understand nothing.”

Lance had it up to his chin with this dumbass Demon. “Are you always going to be like this?”

“Yes,” Keith said simply as if Lance’s question was the dumbest thing he’d ever heard. 

“Is it too late to summon a different Demon?” Lance asked the Heavens. 

Keith’s chuckle stung like barbed wire. “If you tried, I’d banish them back myself. Not that you can. But if you tried...” He let the unspoken warning hang. 

_ Great _ . Lance picked up his pace. So maybe he’d fucked up this kid’s life? Who cared? Her life was already fucked up and he’d tried to help. It wasn’t his fault the universe was shitty.

A sharp claw caught under Lance’s chin, stopping him in his tracks. “I want to be in the thick of it when Heaven is defeated.” The claw ran up his cheek and tucked a stray lock behind his ear as the grave dirt tones melted into honey, “You’ll do that for me, won’t you? Get in over your head and involve yourself where you don’t belong.”

The sharp claw pressed into the side of his temple, hard enough to hurt but not break skin. Lance shivered and hated himself for it. He wouldn’t let this Demon run his life. “In your dreams, filth.”

“Such a sweet talker, you are. Hurry up, your ward is escaping.” Keith disappeared into Lance’s shadow.

“Ugh!” He wanted to say more, curse the Demon back to Hell where he came from, but he swallowed the words. Keith’s warning before the summoning was still fresh. 

Picking up his pace he jogged toward the house. He had no idea what it looked like and with no soul scent to follow, he was blindly picking a direction. Thank Lucifer he’d broken the window. There it was, glass glittering on black tar. Ignoring the cruel comments coming from his shadow, he skidded to a stop and peeked through. 

The little girl was nowhere to be found. Keith better not have been right about this. 

Slipping through the window, he called softly for her. Without knowing her name it made him feel like he was calling a cat.  _ Here kitty, kitty, _ wasn't that far off from,  _ hey kid, where are you.  _

He hoped getting the kid to come to him would be easier than a cat. 

Lance tasted the air, but there were no souls nearby. She was gone. He kicked at a stuffed bear that’d been lost in a hallway corner. 

_ I told you so _ , radiated up from his shadow. 

_ Fuck off _ , he thought at it. This didn't matter anyway. One more death, one more child on the streets, it didn't tip any scales. If Keith was correct about her family too, no one would even miss her. What a horrible world. 

Goddammit to Hell, he was hungry again. 

Having a Demon was  _ not _ helping him to hunt, it was forcing him to hunt  _ more _ . Or maybe in the past he'd siphoned souls from his mother’s Demon and had never thought about how much work it was to keep a Demon and oneself fed. 

He left the house dark and empty. Only his footprints in glass showed that he'd ever been there. 

Lance ignored Keith's barbed wire laugh as he wandered down the backstreets. The back alleys of the city were a labyrinth of gates and deadends. Lance had memorized them by the time he was twenty and by the time he was thirty he knew every shortcut and hiding spot. At a hundred, they were like old friends letting him pass through the streets unseen and able to disappear at a moment's notice. 

There wasn’t a destination he had in mind. All he wanted to do was clear his head as he wove between the shadows of the city where the street lamps didn’t shine. He loved the smells of the city, even the bad ones. There was something about the rot that clung to its buildings and roads that was charming. 

A girl’s voice called out for help but he ignored it to scale a wall that hid a small park behind it. Whatever happened in back alleys was other people's business. 

He was halfway over it before he knew something was wrong. Keith hissed a warning and Lance paused his climb. 

It was the flash of a glinting scythe, golden and white, that caught his eye. A Coel. He was about to make a run for it when a small girl backed into his alley. 

“Just great,” he muttered. Because of course tonight had to get worse.

It was the same girl from before, only this time a Coel reaper was stalking towards her. Not just any reaper, of course it had to be Anoxis. Anoxis Fetch Gladden of all fucking reapers. 

A horrific Angel with hundreds of wings sticking out of a cow’s head clutched his shoulder with eagle's talons. It was the first time Lance was able to see Gabriel in all his Angelic glory.

Right, the Angel. 

“Close your eyes,” he screamed his warning.

Her sobs sounded dully against the walls, but she listened to him for some, miraculous reason. Small hands covered her eyes as she stumbled backward. 

Anoxis ignored him, focusing solely on the girl. The Coel was dressed in the purple robes of Heaven, unlike the night of his murder spree, marking him as a reaper for Heaven. 

Lance could feel Keith’s eagerness to rip Anoxis throat open and for the first time since summoning, he was happy to have the Demon by his side.

He let go of the wall and dropped silently to the gravel. 

Anoxis raised his scythe, the point gleaming with its own light. 

“Okay, that’s enough,” Lance said, striding forward with a confidence he didn’t feel. 

Anoxis’ green eyes met Lance’s and narrowed. 

Lance waved it off. “You’ve had your fun, but this is Dae territory. So why don’t you run along home to whatever high horse you got down from to pester us.”

The green eyes took a slow assessment of his outfit, from his head to his shoes and up again. He gave Anoxis a little spin. “Like what you see?”

“That  _ reaper _ ,” Anoxis said it like a curse.

“Aw, don’t be like that.” Lance was almost in arm’s reach of the child. “Who let you out past curfew and with your Angel on display? Shame, shame. You should go run along home to Michael.”

The golden scythe came down in a sharp arch. Lance dove, trying to pull the girl to safety. His hand wrapped around her arm just as the point of the blade came to rest on his neck. 

“Stay where you are, filthy abomination.” 

Lance swallowed. That was close. “I guess we’re doing name calling now. You do know we’re the same right? Whatever you call me is what you’re calling yourself. Rubber and glue and all that.”

Anoxis’ eyes were fixed on his. The green of them darkened with rage. He stared down at Lance as he murmured. The blade glowed along with his cantor. Blue light spilled over his skin and lit up his face, making it hard to see past into the night. The chanting cut off and Anoxis spat. “You’re going to pay for what you did to me, rat.” 

“Yeah, I bet.” 

The blade pressed into his skin and a sharp sting burned where it cut. It was on the exact same spot that he’d been cut before. 

“Look, instead of killing a kid, why don’t you fight me? Seems more fair.” It was hard to play off his nonchalance with a scythe to his neck, but he’d be damned if he let one of  _ them _ get another soul. They were technically enemies even if they came from the same stock. And  _ he _ was now  _ Adept  _ which meant he was allowed to protect his turf without reprimand.

“The child’s soul is destined for Heaven.” The blade sliced its way up his neck, leaving a thin line of electric pain.

Lance yelped and jumped back, slicing a long gash under his chin. He wiped the blood with the back of his hand, hissing through his teeth. 

The Angel spun in a circle, wings flaring, as it let out a high pitched screech.  _ Fuck that hurt. _ He abandoned his chin in favor of covering his ears. 

“Shut up, you stupid feather ball,” Lance yelled at it. With how bloodthirsty Keith had felt moments before, he sure wasn’t doing a lot to help. 

The bird-brain did not shut up. 

_ Ugh _ .  _ Okay, Lance, you got this. It’s a stupid Archangel and a lone Coel. You’re a whole century now. You have a Demon. And a scythe if you can pull it out. You can do this. _

He rushed the Coel, hands over his ears and blood running down his neck. The golden scythe swooped down, going for the same spot near his jugular. 

“Back to Hell, vermin!” Anoxis lunged.

“There’s no way I’m letting you send me back the day after my summoning,” Lance screamed back. Ducking into a roll, he let go of his ears long enough to grab the girl. 

Gabriel’s scream was gut wrenching and Lance almost forgot what he was doing. But the cold swipe of a blade brought him back.

The scythe caught his shirt and made a long tear down the side.  _ Not another one.  _ Anoxis was destroying all his best shirts.

Springing up, he spun and jumped, catching the brick wall with his toe. It wasn’t much leverage but it was enough to catapult him behind the Coel. “I hope all your men are cold and all your food is tasteless,” he called out behind him as he landed in the gravel. The girl was tucked up under his arm like a football and she was screaming as loud as the Angel. 

What he wouldn’t give for a second pair of hands to block out everyone’s screaming.

Unfortunately for Lance the screaming got louder, not the child but the Angel. He looked back and his face brushed feathers. “Shit.” 

Putting everything he had into his legs, he ran as fast as he could. The concrete stung against his heels and the streetlights flashed as he passed them. Still the Angel was right behind his head, yelling at the top of its cow-lungs. Or whatever Angels had. Now was not the time to contemplate Angel anatomy.

“Keith. I know you’re here.” 

Keith appeared, floating backward as Lance ran. “Yes, Dae Ophir?” 

Lance took that back, Demons sucked just as much as Angels. “Can’t you do something about that?” He nodded back at Gabriel. “Sic it or whatever Demons do.”

“If you want help, then you have to make a deal.” 

“There’s no time for deals, my ears are bleeding.”

Keith cocked his head. “Your ears are fine, but you’re losing a lot of blood from your neck. Do you think you’ll pass out?” 

It was hard to concentrate with the high pitched screech behind him. If only Hell was like Amazon and accepted full returns on defective products. 

“What do you want? My firstborn? It’s yours.”

Keith’s forked tongue flicked out to taste the air. “You won’t have children, nice try.” 

“Are there more fortunes you want to bestow on me before I die?” Lance hefted the child in front of him, carrying her princess style. Her hands still covered her eyes, but other than that she looked unhurt. “I agree. Whatever terms they are, fuck it, I agree. Just get rid of that piece of shit before it kills me.”

“Deal.” Keith’s sharp smile made Lance wish he’d let the Angel have its way with him. Well, he’d already agreed. One deal couldn’t hurt him...right?

Keith morphed, his skin folding in on itself and ripping off new bones that broke and cracked into existence. Lance tried to look away, but the B-movie transformation was hypnotizing. Oh Satan, that was nasty. Bile was sharp and acidic in the back of his throat, but luckily he didn’t retch.

Giant paws thumped on the ground followed by the lithe body of Keith in his fox form. All four of his eyes were locked on the Angel fluttering and screaming. 

Lance skidded to a stop, bending over to whisper into the girl's ear, “It’s okay, I got’chu.” He hated himself for it. If he’d almost been eaten by a reaper, he’d want to hear something more comforting than some platitudes. But platitudes were all he had. 

Keith leaped into the air, mouth open wide. His many teeth closed down on a wing before the ugly thing could flit away. Anoxis in his new purple robes was running toward them and Lance realized he’d have to fight too. Which meant he had to let the girl go. 

“Hey, I’m Lance. Can you do me a favor?”

“You killed my dad.”

Okay, well. That was one point against him. 

“Look, that man wants to kill you. I need to fight him. Promise me you’ll hide.” Lance set her down on her feet and waited for her to gain her balance before letting go. “Hide behind that tree and be as quiet as you can. If you do what I say, you won’t die.”

She scrutinized him with red rimmed eyes. “I’ll hide,” she finally said.

“Good girl. I’ll be right back. Don’t make any noise.”

She nodded and fumbled her way to the tree. Lance had no time to help her as Anoxis rushed past him. He held out his arm, stopping the scythe by its pole. 

“What? You’re not even going to say Hi? Kinda rude don’t ’cha think?”

The pole burned his skin and he was feeling light headed. The blood was starting to clot, but his pulse was racing, pushing the blood out of the wound. 

“Don’t touch,” Anoxis screamed, turning on Lance. The motion ripped the handle from Lance’s grasp. 

Lance jumped back just in time for the blade to skim the very air he’d been occupying. “Leave the girl alone, call off your attack pigeon, and we can all go home happy.”

His answer was the scythe slicing past his ear. It took a strand of hair with it. Okay. New tactic. 

He gripped the tiny scythe carm that hung around his neck. “De morte in mortem,” he whispered. Hopefully, he’d trained enough for this. If it hadn't, tonight would be his last day as a reaper.

The necklace glowed bright green and burned hot in his hand. It unclipped from the chain and grew as he held it. He twirled the staff as the blade elongated. The silver glinted under the streetlights. It was top heavy and slick, but familiar. 

Compared to the Coel scythe, his was shorter and thinner. Which hopefully meant he was faster. He’d practiced this a million times over a century and he could probably pull this off without being sent to his death. 

A reapers’ scythe killed everything, after all. Even an immortal. At least temporarily. 

Ducking, he slid past Anoxis and spun. Both feet firmly planted on the floor, he brought his scythe down onto the sidewalk. 

Anoxis jumped in the air, but he wasn’t attacking Lance. He was aimed at Keith. 

“Watch out.” Lance lunged, shoving Keith out of the way and falling onto the Angel.  _ At least it’s soft, _ he thought. The golden scythe slammed a millimeter from his head, pinning his coat to the ground. 

“I will have my revenge on you,” Anoxis hissed like dissident chords. He stared at Keith as he stepped on Lance’s chest to pull his scythe from the ground. It ripped through Lance’s shoulder. 

He screamed.

“Oh, that  _ is  _ nice. I do love to hear the squeals of vermin.” 

Keith pounced, fangs bared. 

Lance couldn’t see what was happening. All of his focus was on his shoulder and the pain. Blood soaked through his coat, darkening green at an alarming rate. Did he even have that much blood?

He’d never been struck by a reaper’s scythe before. While he’d been cut a few times now, he’d assumed that overall the scythe’s blade was painless. 

He was wrong. 

It was  _ fire _ . It burned his skin everywhere it'd touched, forcing the wound to stay open where his immortality would’ve healed it. 

Swaying as he stood, Lance clutched his scythe in one hand. No. He wouldn’t end here and there was no way he would let Anoxis take his shitty Demon. If anyone was going to get rid of that Hellhound it would be Lance himself. 

Something squeaked as he stood and Lance lifted his toes. The Angel. Up close he realized that it wasn’t the same one from the club. This wasn’t Gabriel at all.

Gabriel’s power had been all consuming and pure. This tuft of feathers couldn’t be anything more than a cherubim at best. Better yet, it was stuck under his boot.

Lance held the tip of his scythe to the Angel’s wing, watching it squirm under his foot. “I am the balance, I am the judge, and I have seen your sin and condemn you,” he recited the final rites. “May Lucifer use your soul well.”

He didn’t have time to decide if killing an Angel would send it to Hell since he had a Demon or if it would go straight back to Heaven. In the end it didn’t matter.

The blade sliced the trembling fluff in half, spilling golden grace onto the concrete. The multiple heads screamed, grace gurgling in their throats. The scream deepened, soured, and shook him to his bones. 

Lance backed away. Maybe killing an Angel was a bad idea. 

When the scream became a roar, he realized the sound wasn't coming from the Angel at all. He turned to see Keith reared back with light pouring out of his extremities. Claw tips, and horn tips, his eyes and mouth, elbows and ears, everything shone as if he were glowing from the inside. 

Anoxis kicked Keith away and scrambled back, scraping his scythe on the ground. The concrete aged and cracked wherever the blade hit. 

Keith roared again and lept. All four of his eyes were whited out by light and his mouth was as bright as the sun. His teeth closed over Anoxis’ jugular, spilling red. 

Brown crept along the edges of Lance’s vision. Real blood, a real fight, real pain. None of this was okay. They were supposed to be earning their redemption. What was this? The fallen of Heaven fighting each other in the streets, reapers and Angels and Demons killing each other to do what? Collect more mortal souls for their sides? 

TThis was just violence.

Lance leaned on his scythe as he watched Keith rip into Anoxis. His shoulder burned and blood still poured from the broken skin. Nausea rushed up his throat. It might’ve had something to do with being woozy, but he was pretty sure that most of it was from the scene in front of him. 

“Stop,” he rasped out, swallowing the spit that filled his mouth. “Stop it.” His whole body protested moving forward, the only direction it wanted to go was away. Still he pressed on, one foot after the other. “Stop, Keith. That’s a command.”

His voice wasn’t any louder, but the Demon froze. Red gore lay beneath him and his claws shown in the lamp light. Brown fuzz took over all of Lance’s vision and he swayed. “It’s over,” he whispered.

He couldn’t see if Keith was still glowing. He couldn’t tell if he was still gnawing on Coel bones. He needed to get out of there. 

“Your shoulder.”

“I’m fine.” He hissed as Keith touched the wound. Blinking against the creeping darkness, he focused on Keith’s face through the narrowing circle of vision. 

He was still glowing, but it was dimmer now. Silver grace flecked across his face like macabre freckles dotting the fur and mixed with the Coel’s red blood. 

“We need to leave.” Lance was tired and hungry and done. But after all that energy spent he had to collect more souls or, well, he’d probably starve to death. He’d never been told what would happen to reapers who didn’t reap. 

Keith nosed his side and helped him stand.

“Let’s get this over with.” Lance’s vision cleared and he focused on the moon above.

He hunted deep into the night, Keith sticking to his shadow. Overall the only thing Keith did was suck souls through Lance and divvy the energy between them. It took longer than Lance wanted it to. He’d hoped that reaping would take less time and he’d have more free time with his friends. Unfortunately, it seemed the opposite was true.

The sun was creeping over the rooftops as he fell into his Demon-engraved bed. He stared up at the bacchanalian painting above his head. Keith had left him alone on the way back leaving his shadow blissfully empty. He was still there, even now, but at least he couldn’t  _ feel _ him. 

As soon as he shut his eyes, his mother’s voice called him to mass. 

Shit, he’d forgotten about his promise to Pidge. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm crying over the art by [jillibeeean](https://twitter.com/jillibeeean) !!! T_T i love it so
> 
> I keep having to check to make sure violence is tagged XD this is our first official run in with the angels and their reapers! HMMM I wonder what happened to Gaberial? 
> 
> Also the little girl was going to be a Thing and then I abandoned her, there was a version of this story told by her and she was a prophet of the new world after this book ended, I just didn't have the ability to go with that direction, but please hc her as a prophet and pretend I'm that good at writing. her name was Cassandra like the greek priestess and she was going to have a bigger part in the finally 
> 
> That's just not the storyline I went with, we have a different story that focuses more on Keith and Lance instead as they navigate the rules of the world and decide if they like them or if they want to destroy them
> 
> soon we'll be getting into the meat of it and visiting Hell!
> 
> If you like what I do, I'm also on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd) and I'm actively posting on my pseudo: [SailUnchartedWaters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlassAlice/pseuds/SailUnchartedWaters)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this author has a [Twitter](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd) and posts short klance stories there!

~💀~

“It’s sacred.”

"It’s bullshit.” Keith batted at the veil that hung between his horns that obscured his face. 

Lance pursed his lips. After an entire day- literally,  _ an entire day _ of Keith complaining about the sacred robes of Dae, calling them constricting and hideous and mumbling in his ear about how at least in Hell he could wear whatever he wanted - Lance was about to send Keith back there himself. Instead, he sat straight-backed and dutifully ignored the need to flip up his own veil to level him with a glare without the gauzy red fabric in the way. “It symbolizes our mourning for our transgressions against God,” he ground out under his breath. 

“You can take those transgressions and shove them-”

“Fellow Dae, we want to begin today by welcoming our newest Adept. Please stand.”

Honestly, there was a part of him that agreed with Keith, but he  _ liked _ that the Sanctuary’s clothing was so vastly different from his own style. It put him in the headspace for worship and duty. Clothing that elevated him from the dirt and blood and grime of this world to a place where sin was, if no less ugly, at least more abstract. 

Grumbling, Keith sunk into the pew as Lance stood. At least his Demon decided that sulking was more useful than complaining. 

“Welcome again to your soul’s work, we hope this life will serve you as well as your last. May you reap your wealth in souls.”

“May you reap your wealth in souls,” Lance repeated with the congregation. Tucking his red cloak under him as he sat, he lost track of the veil and it slipped from his head to flutter to the floor. The organ music filled the Sanctuary as he snatched it and quickly placed it back on his head. Lance hissed at the quick movements. His shoulder was still healing and the wrappings made the cloak feel too snug. 

The hard lacquered wood dug into his tailbone as he reached for the hymnal. The congregation were all veiled in their different colors. The pews of Adept, where he sat, were a sea of red made more so by the crimson of his own vail. 

Lance mumbled the song as he stared above him to the white veils of the Rexs on one side and the black of the council on the other. It was like staring up at a giant chess game. The two sides fighting for power, Rexes with their demons and the council with their breeding. 

Both sides were a bore. 

_ Sorry about yesterday, _ he typed out quickly before the Casting of the Morning Star. He shoved his phone in his pocket just as everyone stood to huddle in a circle. Rituals were important, of course they were, but they were also dull. The worst. Lance wanted to run out of there so he could apologize to Pidge in person.

Normally Pidge replied immediately. Not once had Pidge ever waited until the end of a service to reply. Dutifully Lance repeated his lines and drew the runes in the air as they stood in a circle. 

“We are the balance, we are the judges, we are the next to be redeemed.” The circle broke and Lance used the shuffling to sneak out. 

Still no answer. Worry crept into his bones and he walked faster. 

“Pidge is not dead.”

Lance glared. “I’m worried that my friend made a casserole, not that they’re dead. Tone it down, Demon.”

He texted Pidge that he was on his way. His car was parked around the corner at a meter. Downtown parking was the worst. There were never open spots, the roads were so narrow that it was hard to drive, and the pedestrians never watched where they were going. Not to mention paying for the whole awful experience. If he could make it downtown without having to drive, he would have. Unfortunately, the Sanctuary was in the heart of downtown seated across the street from the college bar crawl. 

An ancient white Honda sat parked right where he’d left it. Ugly and boxy, the rear was covered in stickers that were mostly Pidge’s, who’d insisted that it helped hide the ugliness. Lance argued that it only drew attention to the eyesore; still, he’d let them put whatever they wanted on it. He had to admit they at least helped hide the dings and scratches on it since it had more of those than it had paint. 

He hit the door with his hip and it popped open. 

Sliding into the driver’s seat, Lance held down the break and uncapped the wires under the car, touching them together. The car sputtered to a start after a few tries. The keys had been lost two owners ago and he wasn’t sure which one had hot wired it, either way, he was thankful to have such a cheap piece of junk. 

He backed out of the spot and waited for drunk people to cross before taking off. Red lights plagued him as he wove his way out of downtown and into the suburbs. A bike cut him off and had the audacity to flip him off. It seemed like everyone had a death wish tonight, and he’d really rather not oblige. 

Keith fiddled with the knobs on the radio, pressing buttons at random.

“It doesn’t work,” Lance told him.

“You should get it fixed.”

Lance scoffed. A demon caring about the silence of his car, hilarious. “If you want to register a car under your name with your ID, please do. Until then, you’re not allowed to complain about my stereo.” 

Keith snapped and the radio blared punk music out of the fuzzy speakers. 

“Any other modifications you’d like to make to my car?” 

“Nope, I’m good.” He put his feet up on the dash and leaned back. The wind whistled through the windows even though they were fully up and the road noise rumbled as if the car didn’t have doors. Above all that, the guitars ripped as some dude screamed over them. 

Lance hated to admit that It did feel a little more badass than the silence.

Revving the engine, Lance pressed the pedal to the floor and the car shook as it hit sixty-five. Which was as fast as the pile of shit could go even though the speedometer went to eighty-five. It was still faster than the speed limit, so it gave Lance a rush as he passed the sleepy office workers and pissed off family vans. 

The city flew by as soon as he left Downtown. Street lamps lit circles on the asphalt, making the patches of tar glissen in their eerie glow. The stars were blacked out by the city lights leaving only the moon to light the night sky.

Lance loved the city. He loved how it always felt like something important was happening no matter the time of day or night. He loved how people kept to themselves. No one ever raised an eyebrow at his Easter egg aesthetic and if they did it was always to tell him to keep being himself. He wished the Dae’s uniforms were less gothic and more springtime soft. 

Spinning the car into parallel near Pidge’s house, Lance shifted into park. Untying the hotwiring, the car shuttered into silence. The punk music continued until he glared at Keith long enough that he snapped it off. Lance slammed the door shut with his hip as he texted Pidge he was there. 

“We should be hunting, not hanging with friends.” The way Keith said  _ friends _ made it sound like a curse.

“The night is young and we spent all day at the Sanctuary and I haven't slept. So, I’m going to relax and cheer my friend up from the brink of a casserole disaster.” He shoved his phone in his pocket as he stepped onto the porch. “You can do whatever you want.”

Keith grumbled. 

“I swear if you complain ONE MORE TIME.” He was about to tackle Keith to the floor and give him something to grumble about. Lance lunged at Keith right when the demon jumped into his shadow. 

He caught himself on the banister as the door cracked open.

“Lance?” Pidge asked, sleepy and in pajamas. 

“You.” He rounded on Pidge and scooped them into his arms. “Pidgeon! You little monster, I’ve texted you a billion times.”

Pidge hit him wherever they could reach, which included his face. “Put me down, you tree.” 

“Okay.” Lance opened his arms and Pidge fell down with a yelp. It was a decent drop, he had a good foot over them.

“That’s it. Why are you even here? No, don’t answer that, leave. You’re canceled.”

"You wanted down. I did as you asked." Lance pushed past and headed for the stairs. 

Pidge shut the door with a groan. "You're going to be the death of me, Lance Ophir." 

Lance leaned over the banister and grinned down. "It will be such a sweet death, though." 

Pidge's room smelled like burning. Burning incense, burning sage, burning sacrifices on their little altar under the window. 

Even now, a small curl of smoke rose from the low table, heady and dark. Lance liked today's choice. It was the sweet ones he couldn't stand. 

He spun on his heel to face Pidge. "So what was the emergency? Please tell me we’re at Lasagna-level max." 

"I’m fine. It was a false alarm. I burnt some sage and feel better." 

"Lies; you were sleeping and it isn’t even close to two." Lance pointed to the pillow crease on their cheek.

“It’s close enough.”

“It’s seven, barely.”

Pidge flopped back on the bed. “It’s fine. I thought someone was following me, but I was overreacting.” 

“Pidge. That’s not okay. Who was following you around?”

“No one, I told you. I was just being paranoid.”

“Then why did you send me that you were on the brink of lasagna?”

Pidge threw their arms over their head, letting them bounce on the mattress. "I freaked, now I’m fine. You’re a whole day late anyway. I could be on the side of the road and this is an alien wearing my skin as a suit." 

"I’m okay with that."

A pillow hit him in the head. 

"I’ll let that go, since I deserved it."

Another pillow smacked him on the chest.

“But not that one.” He grabbed the pillow and pounced on Pidge, smacking them in the face.

Pidge rolled, and fell off with a yelp as they tried to escap and misjudged the size of their own bed.

Lance was after them in an instant as he wielded his pillow high. Pidge grabbed the other one that sat on the floor and turned to fight back. The pillow puffed against his knees.

“No!” He fell to the floor, reaching out for Pidge. “Not my legs, they were my best feature!”

“Serves you right.” They stood over him, hands on their waist. “Now that I’ve cut you down to my size, help me make a casserole.”

“I knew it.” Lance fell back on his butt and studied Pidge. Dark circles stood out on their pale skin and their hair fell limp around their face. Pidge was never the picture of rested and relaxed, but it’d been a long time since they looked this bad. Whatever it was, was bothering them more then they were letting on. Good thing Lance knew the cure.

“Instead of a casserole, why don’t we queue up some B-horror.” 

“Let’s do both.” Pidge lit up at the mention of a horror movie night. 

Okay, maybe he wasn’t that good at curing it, but at least it’d help.

“You pick the movie and I’ll do the dishes so we can cook the anxiety casserole.” 

Pidge bent and hugged him. “Thanks, man. You are a shitty friend most of the time, but sometimes you pull through.”

“Thanks?”

“You’re welcome.”

Lance did as he promised and washed the dishes. The whole time he did his best to ignore the movement in his shadow. 

Pidge started the movie and the opening credit music made the empty kitchen a little more spooky. He pulled out a glass dish and set it on the stove. Padding to the living room, he found Pidge sprawled upside down on the couch. Their head hung off the edge, as they scrolled through their phone. 

“Any drama?”

“Always. This pleeb’s code is full of antipatterns. I told them so and you know what they said?”

“What did they say?” Lance asked playing it up a little.

“Come back when you have a masters in coding like me! A  _ master’s in coding.” _

“How dare they.” 

Pidge rolled their eyes and dropped the phone to the floor. “You don’t even understand what I’m saying.”

“Yes I do. Their code sucks and they think they’re the shit because they went to university and you haven't.”

Pidge paused. “Yeah. That’s basically the gist. I guess you do listen to me.”

“I try not to, but you’re so annoying that I can’t help it sometimes.”

Pidge rolled off the couch and kicked the back of his knee. Lance stumbled forward, catching himself on the entertainment center. The rainbow crystals that were lined up on the edge rattled dangerously. 

“I probably deserved that.”

“You definitely did.” Pidge grinned. “Is it cooking time?”

“Indeed it is.”

Pidge crawled to standing. “What are you waiting for? Let’s cook!”

“No more hitting.”

“Fine, then don’t do anything to deserve it.” 

Lance sighed. That meant more hitting. “Fair.”

The casserole was easy to make. Pidge’s mom always kept their kitchen well stocked even if it was dirty. She worked nights, so he came here often to do movie nights and eat whatever food Pidge’s mood dictated. That was, until now. He wasn’t a very good reaper ditching his ceremony and now ditching a night of reaping. 

Brushing off the bad feelings, he tried to concentrate on enjoying the time he had. This small moment of time where he could just be Lance instead of Adept Ophir, son of a Rex.

He concentrated on the now where he was cooking with his best friend. He watched their hands as they stirred the mushroom soup. 

Pidge was attractive; he loved their hands. The way the veins ran across the muscles and how the tendons shifted over bone. He wished he could reach out and grab it. If only he could hold hands and feel the way the veins moved. 

Maybe in a different life they would’ve been something more than friends. A life where Allura hadn’t stepped between them.

Honestly, he wished he could hold anyone’s hand.

Keith’s cold and dreary voice broke through his thoughts,  _ Didn’t Praxus say that, ‘A reaper’s duty was to Death and Death alone?’  _

“Yeah, that’s why I didn’t try,” Lance muttered.

Pidge paused their stirring. “Try what?”

“Try to make this by myself! You're so much better at cooking than me. "

The movie was halfway over before the timer buzzed. They both jumped up and eagerly served out two heaping portions of anxiety casserole. 

Pidge took a big whiff and sighed. “I can feel my anxiety melt away from here.”

Taking a bite, Lance whistled low. “You’re too good with your hands. Your girlfriend is going to be so lucky.” 

Pidge whapped him upside the head. “Don’t talk about my future girlfriend with such crude innuendos.”

“Sorry, sorry. Next time I’ll call it fingering.” 

Pidge turned on him so fast, Lance could barely follow it even with his eyes. They whacked him on the arms over and over. It didn’t hurt, they weren't being mean, but he still played that it did. “Don’t. Talk. About.” They punctuated each word with a thwack. “Her. That. Way.”

“You’re so cute when you’re mad.” 

“Why am I even friends with you?”

“Because I’m handsome and without me you have to make depression food alone?”

“Right. A horrible reason, but its still a reason.” Pidge stood, leaving their dirty plate on the floor. “I need some alcohol. Let’s raid the cabinet.”

~💀~

Lance woke up to the jingle of keys in the door. He blinked, staring up at the familiar ceiling of Pidge’s living room. A massive headache pounded against his skull as he sat up. His friend was nowhere to be seen. 

“Oh Lance, did you spend the night?”

“Yeah, sorry. Good morning,” Lance slurred out. His mouth tasted stale and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. 

“No, you’re always welcome.” She kicked off her shoes and threw her bag on the floor. “I’m sorry I can’t make you breakfast, but feel free to stay and hang out.” 

“Thanks,” Lance said, trying to get his bearings. Last night was a blur. They’d stuffed their faces with casserole and liqueur and-  _ Oh shit _ . The bottles. 

He scrambled to hide them, but they were all gone. Pidge must’ve put them back before abandoning him and going to bed. Rude.

“Tell Pidge I said bye.” Lance grabbed his phone and made his way to the door as casually as he could. He wasn’t leaving the scene of a crime, there was nothing to feel guilty about. Right? He walked faster. 

“Have a good day,” she said around a large yawn as he slammed the door.

Abandoning his car, Lance decided to walk back. It’d probably take a good couple of hours, but he wanted the time to think and the best place to think was the sidewalk. There was something slow about walking down a sidewalk. He could watch the people and examen the buildings in a way he couldn’t in a car. It was soothing. 

Or it would've been soothing if his people watching hadn’t turned into people dodging. Everyone was staring at him, shuffling their children to the other side of the walk.

His pastel crop top with a smiling star that said  _ Lucky Night _ in fat bubble letters was probably not helping. 

All he wanted to do was blend in and disappear into the crowd. But it was impossible among the yoga pants moms that pushed their strollers as they got in their morning cardio and the suit-sharp interns all hustling for their morning coffee. He stuck out like a walk of shame through a church. 

The sun was golden soft as it shone between highrises, but he instead chose to walk in the cold shadow of the buildings whenever he could. Now and then, he’d stick his hand out into the sunlight and let it fill his palm. 

So warm. 

Vaguely he wondered if he’d ever get to hold hands like that. Like warm sunlight in his palm.

Here in the shadow of the building, he couldn’t tell if Keith was hiding or if he’d abandoned Lance along with Pidge. It was more likely that he went back to the Sanctuary last night, bored and hungry.

Lance wondered, with his handful of sun, if Keith enjoyed sticking to the shadows or if he would rather touch the sunlight. Had Keith ever been in the sun? It was possible. Demons were immortal, so this might not have been his first time on Earth. 

Technically, they’d all lived close to the sun, close to God, before they were cast out. Abandoned. Even though Lance didn’t remember it, he’d fallen too. His soul anyway. 

Lance let go of the sunlight and brought his hand back into the cold shadow. He touched his chest with his sun-warmed hand, feeling his heartbeat under the plastic star. 

How many times had he been born and died before his hundredth year? Since the fall he’d never made it to summoning. Otherwise, he’d be in Hell now. 

There were so few Dae left. It was unfair that one decision had doomed his people forever. A decision he didn’t even remember making.

_ Fuck this world _ , he thought. 

“Not very pious of you,” Keith’s hissing voice tickled his ear.

“What in the Hell,” Lance said, jumping away from nothing.

“If  _ they _ knew what you were thinking, you’d be killed.”

Lance had no shadow here, but he knew if he did Keith would be in it, curling horns disfiguring the outline. He ignored Keith’s warning. “I thought you’d left.”

“Silly Dae. So bad at your job. I told you, I go where you go.” 

“Don’t give me that bull. You’ve left more than once.” 

“Did I?” Keith was a blur of darkness against the wall before he stepped out. He looked more human than Lance had ever seen him, especially with a hoodie covering his horns. “I don’t remember doing so. It seems like you’re not very perceptive.”

“Lies like flies,” Lance sing-songed. 

Keith hissed, long and raspy. The metallic hiss of it sent goosebumps down his spine. 

It took a moment for Lance to realize he was laughing. A joyless, horrific laugh. 

Apparently immortality also came with a lack of joy. That gave Lance pause. 

He glanced at one of the yoga moms who was humming to her music as she sped walked with her stroller. Maybe the difference between him and Keith was similar to mortals and Dae. How much more joy did they have that he could never have? 

“I’m a Demon,” Keith said, unapologetically. 

Lance ignored that. Actually, he ignored Keith’s random comments the whole way home. It didn’t seem like Keith was talking to him anyway, just trying to get a rise out of him and Lance’d be damned if he’d let him. 

Next time, he was taking his car.

It took a good two hours to walk all the way back to the Sanctuary. Unfortunately, it wasn’t nearly as peaceful and meditative as he’d hoped. With Keith around, life might never be that way again.

The Sanctuary was his home of sorts. Most reapers lived in their family homes that were passed down from generation to generation. All Dae reapers had to attend the Sanctuary until their centennial birthday. 

But Lance only knew and would only ever know the Sanctuary as home. It was technically his family’s. So while the others had left to their parts of the world to reap, Lance was stuck here, with the Rexs and the Council.

Sun poured down on the golden dome of the building. During the day it was a non-denominational church that didn’t hold sermons. It’s doors were open to all who wandered past. Most days it was full of homeless people whose souls were slowly siphoned off by the Demonic residents. Now and then someone would enter thinking it was a tiny cathedral or a temple but would leave confused when the inside proved not to be what they were expecting.

Lance ran his fingers over the tapestries that he shouldn’t be touching. They were older than Praxus, they were older than the Sanctuary. They were probably older than Lucifer himself, may his soul burn forever. 

The pictures were worn down and hard to see, some of the threads were tarnished with age. Most of them depicted Angels with burning wings, the Earth opening up to swallow them. Others showed the Demons ransacking Heaven and coming out triumphant as the Angels wept. 

His favorite was at the end. Lucifer, in all his glory, woven in gold and silver. It was dull with time but it was still the most beautiful. 

The delicate threads outlined Lucifer who stood over the reapers and the Demons with his arms spread wide. A halo encircled his head, just as tarnished as the tapestry. The flaming sword of Micheal hung down from heaven as a threat and a warning. Wings in every color were spread behind him in defiance of Heaven and his face was lifted in anger. 

When he was younger, Lance would stare up at it trying to imagine what it looked like before the colors faded and the threads turned to rust. There was still a spot where he’d pulled one of the treads trying to clean it. That’d gotten him into some deep shit. 

“Lance Alexander Dae Ophir,” his mother’s stern voice echoed in the chapel. 

Kinda like he was now.

With a sigh, he turned away from Lucifer’s beautiful indignation and into the rage lined face of his mother. “Inés Alexandria Rex Ophir,” he said with a nod as if she weren’t practically spitting fire. 

Aym sat on her shoulder, the goat head turning to look at Lance through one slitted eye. The snake head hissed into his mother’s ear, tongue tickling the outer shell of it, while the third one glared at the opposite wall.

“Where have you been? The Council is looking for you. You were supposed to speak with the counsel at sunrise.” Inés was taller than him and she used her height to her advantage. Lance took after his mother in all ways except height. 

She pressed into his space, making sure he felt tiny. Dark brown curls fell over her shoulder as she leaned forward. There wasn’t a single sparkle of silver in her locks despite her face being lined with millennia. 

“I was reaping.”

“Lies like flies,” Keith cackled in his ear.

“You stink like human,” she said, nose wrinkling, “And _only_ _you_ were absent from mass. You’re not a child anymore, Dae Ophir.” 

“I was reaping  _ humans _ .” Lance could see the twitch under her eye that told him was in even deeper shit. 

He didn’t care. Pidge was lying to him, Keith was lying to him and now his mother wanted him to lie to himself. Suck it up and play the good Adept. “This whole thing is stupid. There’s no point. We reap souls so that they go to Hell and the Coel reap souls so that they go to Heaven, but neither of us are judging the souls. It’s all random.”

The slap hit, sharp and stinging.

It rang in the beautiful acoustics as if the building itself were singing along with the violence. 

“I’ve rescheduled your appointment to meet with the Council.” She held her hand as if she were the one hurt. “You’ll charm them and earn a place among them so that you are not a waste of my time.” She rose to her full height, flicking her ringlets over her shoulder. “You’ve already failed me once. I will not let you fail me again.”

Lance held his cheek as his eyes dropped to the floor.  _ Family plans _ . He sure hoped Pidge was jealous of this. Wished they knew exactly what all his dinners and outings really were. At least Pidge’s mother loved them even if she was terrible at it. Being bad at love was different than no love. 

Maybe love was another thing that was impossible the closer to immortality a person was. That was why God had abandoned everything he’d created, because creation doesn’t equate to love. 

Lance could see it now, in the eyes of his mother, in the Demon on her shoulder. Creations were easily destroyed.

The Council room was on the second floor above the dias. The steps were tiny, numerous, and extremely slippery. The waxed marble was a death trap to anyone climbing them. His mother took each one without looking down. Lance on the other hand, took them two or three at a time and had to watch his footing. 

Inés was faster, reaching the top of the staircase to glare down at him. Her age had sharpened her grace and agility into the blade of a scythe. A few more decades and Lance hoped he'd be half as fast and hopefully twice as graceful.

She tapped a slippered foot, too small for her height, as she waited. "The Council cannot oblige your laziness." 

"Yes, mother." Nevermind that his laziness was actually caution so he didn't crack open his skull and get dragged down to Hell right after summoning. It happened. Reapers that were collected by their demons as soon as they were summoned. Lance wasn't about to join their numbers. 

At the top of the stairs, Inés grabbed the smiling plastic star on his crop top. "By Lucifer, what are you wearing?" 

Really? Now? After he'd climbed all the way up here, after being told how impatient the Council was, after being slapped and yelled it,  _ now _ his outfit mattered. 

"Clothes." He flinched as her hand rose. She coughed and pointed to the door. "If they do not accept you, you'll have to answer to me." 

Lance wasn't sure what was worse; an endless servitude to the Council or Inés' punishment. Why couldn't he have been born into a lower house? 

Nodding and turning with a click of his tongue, he strode through the carved doors. Angels burned in contorting poses along the frame, their wood-carved eyes staring at him as he passed under. 

All heads of the council turned to face him. 

One other Adept from last night wore the dark emerald robe of the Council. Her collar cut into her chin and the billowing sleeves were laced tight against her wrists. The green reflected against her dark skin, tinting her like a forest nymph. 

The other Council members wore their robes with less beauty. Most of them had been alive since the middle ages, one claimed he'd sat with Merlin himself. Lance thought it was bullshit. Mostly because he looked the youngest. And while Dae wore age well, age happened to any that death could claim. And reapers knew death the most intimately.

"Dea Ophir, there you are." Sebastian Ophir, his father, stood and motioned to the members. "To take the place of Theous, may his soul burn, my son." 

Imps and succubi sat in corners and clung to hems while devils and incubi ran in circles and perched on the rafters. Lance watched the chaos, ignoring the members eyes whose judgment he could feel in his bones. 

"Sebastian, you are most beloved among the Council and I speak for all when I say you do well in our running." Tara Vis stood, she was second only to his father and liked to use that to her advantage. Her incubus scrambling up her robe to sit on her shoulder and add to her glare. "I think I also speak for the Council when I say he is not qualified for this position. It would cause Theous to crawl his way back up from his peaceful rest." 

"Theous is not here and the boy summoned an adequate demon. His family is respected; that alone should be good enough.” This time it was the woman sitting to his father's left, Asmatarta, marking her as third in rank. “We were all young once, he will learn and grow out of his childish ways." She winked at him.

Lance shifted feet and tried to be very interested in the table.

"Asmatarta, be that as it may. He is not ready now,” Tara said, turning to his dad. “I know he is your son, Sebastian, but you must not let it blind you to his shortcomings.”

"Standing right here," Lance mumbled. 

The Adept turned Council member muffled a giggle behind her hand and Lance smirked. If he did get in at least someone with a sense of humor was here. 

Even so, there was no way he’d wear something that was so stuffy. 

"Ten years. In ten years if this spot is not filled and he has proven himself worthy, he may join." 

Lance's shadow grew darker. The dim light of the room flickered and he rolled his eyes. "What are you doing?" he whispered to Keith.

"We are assessing your inability, Adept Ophir," Tara said. 

Oops, he'd asked that out loud. 

Keith hovered at the edge of his subconscious. It hit him that no one else was looking at the lights or staring at his elongated shadow. It was like Lance was stuck in a dream, where Keith took over his whole world. A fox-like snout breathed next to his ear, whiskers tickling as Keith circled around him. 

"Stupid mistake. One more to add to the pile that is your life," Keith's voice growled, garbled by his inhuman mouth. 

Lance startled. He had been expecting the more human form. Apparently Keith wanted to show just how Demonic he was. Which was stupid, because it wasn’t like Lance could actually see him. Keith was the darkness that hovered outside his peripheral. 

That wasn’t quite right. The Council members couldn’t see Keith, that was true, but the Demons definitely could. All the slitted, multi-irised, and skinned-over eyes turned to stare at him. A few curtsied. 

His schooling was rusty, he never did care much for memorization, but if he was correct Keith had at least a legion under his command. If he knew his real name, Lance could look up an exact number. There was a very real possibility that some of these Demons were his.

Keith shook his fur and he could feel the ghostly softness of it as he continued to circle. Lance tried to repress a shiver. 

A few strange looks were sent his way. Miss. Snobby-and-Negative-Tara frowned disapprovingly at him. She scratched the incubus’ chin and its ears curled back on its head as it let out a moan. “Ten years might be too soon. I’m sorry Sebastian, but I cannot allow him on this Council.”

_ See? Look how they all hate you. Even your own father doesn’t believe in you.  _

Despite his better judgment, he glanced at his father. 

Sebastian sat there looking up at Tara, brows furrowed. He must’ve sensed Lance staring because he turned to him. Lance watched his emotions shift from caught to apologetic. 

_ He’s sorry that you’re his son, _ Keith’s whisper rattled like chains around his neck. Holding him down and forcing him to listen. He wished they’d drag him through the floor and right out of existence. 

Tara continued to explain why anyone else would be better for the spot and a few of the other members put in their opinion as well, pointing out this or that that Lance’d done. He wasn’t listening. All he could hear were Keith’s heavy words, each one adding a link to the chain.

Nobody. 

Clink.

Worthless. 

Clink.

Pointless. 

Clink.

Loveless.

Lock.

“-revisit this in fifty years. Everyone in agreement?”

“Aye,” chorused the room. Devils squealed and banging their fists on any surface, drumming their agreement.

"Doesn't the Council have better things to do?” Lance said, barely above a whisper. It was hard to speak under the chain Keith had wraped him in. 

“What was that?” Sebastian’s voice was a warning.

“Don’t you have better things to do than sit in a dark room and make useless decisions." Lance waved at them in frustration before his arms fell limp at his sides. How had he ever had energy? How had he ever wanted to do anything besides burry himself in the earth?

Scoffs circled around the table and growls followed behind from the Demons. 

Lance continued his quiet protest. "I very impolitely refuse your offer and more importantly, I don't have time for your-" 

“That’s enough, Dea Ophir,” Sebastian slammed his fists on the table. “Your insolence will not be tolerated. Mistress Vis was correct in her assessment of you. It’s unfortunate for me that you are still not ready for this responsibility.” 

Lance balled his fists. “That’s fine,  _ father _ . I’m sorry I’m always a disappointment.”

“We will not reconsider you for the Council,” Tara said and it was followed by agreements by the rest of the Council. Including his father. 

_ Failure. Shouldn’t even try. Give up,  _ Keith added in his ear.

That was all he could take. The chains of Keith’s words made his movements sluggish and slow. Still, he lunged forward and tackled the shadow that was Keith, squeezing his muzzle shut. As soon as he did it, he regretted it. 

Anger and hate rolled off Keith in waves, filling the room. 

Keith growled a low warning, like gravel scraping metal. The other Demons scrambled away, finding safety on shoulders and behind each other. Keith's slit eyes geared a promise of a swift death. 

Faster than he thought himself able, Lance let go and shuffled back. "Sorry." 

_ Not going to die the day after,  _ he reminded himself. 

"Do  _ not _ interrupt me,” Keith’s voice echoed in the room, absorbing and turning flat as it bounced off the wood. 

The lights popped, raining down sparks that bouncing off furniture. Lance brushed them away before they could catch. Half his clothing was made of plastic so it probably wouldn't, but always better to be safe. 

“Out! You and that no-name Demon are not welcome in the Council room.”

Lance could feel Keith’s growl more than he could see it. But, honestly, if Keith killed the whole lot, it wouldn’t be much of a travesty. They could sit in Hell with their Demons and roast for all he cared. 

“As useless as a mortal,” the girl around his age said to his back. 

_ She’s right. _

Apparently, Keith was happy to go back to needling him, the whole tantrum he’d just thrown not even a concern. 

“You didn’t help at all.” Lance slammed the doors behind him and held onto the railing as he descended the waxed stairs. 

Horns, paws, and a face appeared, trodding down the staircase next to him, his back half still incorporeal. “I am not here to help you.”

“I mean technically you are. That’s literally why I summoned you.” The further he got from the room the lighter he felt. Whatever chains Keith had forged around him weren’t permanent.

“You summoned me because you do what you’re told. I am here for my own profit.”

“Then you can stay here. I’m leaving.” Lance made it to the bottom of the stairs and turned to head to his room. It was behind the stage, hidden by drapings that reminded people that they were sinful and that there was no hope. Sweeping aside one of the heavy draperies, he revealed a door that was flush to the wall. It led to the whole secret section of the Sanctuary. 

The biggest part of the Sanctuary wasn’t the fake church. Well, it wasn’t exactly fake, but it wasn’t godly either. 

No, the biggest part was the basement that spiraled down twenty floors. His room was on the nineteenth. Apparently, walking up and down nineteen stories was good training and would build him into a respectable Dae his parents could be proud of. 

While close to the bottom of the pit, It was not the lowest floor. Only by a technicality. It  _ was _ the lowest floor that had free access. The bottom-most floor, the twentieth, was restricted. 

He knew what was down there and he had no interest in it. Most nights he could hear the screams before bedtime. 

That was where all the ritual sacrifices took place and now that he wasn’t on the Council he wouldn’t ever have to go down there. The screams were enough, thanks. He didn’t need to see it, too. 

He could hear the chanting as he descended. Apparently there was another one tonight. Fantastic. He couldn’t wait to never hear the chanting or the death throws ever again. An apartment by the ocean sounded nice. Or maybe a cottage. He could pretend to be a witch and lure people to his candy house to feed on their souls. According to lore, the position was open. 

Candied houses and witchy woods were shoved to the side when he reached his room. The staircase spiraled down a central core and each floor spread from it on all sides. The nineteenth floor was sapphire blue, decorated with peacocks and peahens. Vases of feathers lined the hallways and the walls were painted in the blood of said birds. The dark brown of the old blood was cracked here and there to show the stonework behind it. 

If nothing else, Lance would miss the nineteenth floor. It was extravagant and perfectly grotesque. He loved it. 

His room was at the end of the third hallway next to his father’s. His mother lived on the thirteenth floor with the rest of the Rexs. That floor wasn’t nearly as interesting. All black obsidian and mirrors. It made him dizzy to visit her. 

His room.

He’d lived here for a hundred years. A hundred years in this room filled with feathers, painted in blood, and draped in velvet. The finest bed carved from oak with dancing Demons along the side rail and fire carved up the posters. Tiny imps pranced along the head and footboards, throwing flowers and acting lewd. He passed by it, trying not to think if the bedsheets would fit in his suitcase. 

Enough clothes to survive and enough money to live. That was all he needed and then he could go rogue, disappear forever. Forget about the war and the souls and the duty. 

A scream echoed its way up through the floor. 

It’d started. Great. 

On the bright side, everyone from the Council to the Rexs would be busy. A perfect escape and he hadn’t even planned it.

_ You’ll never make it. A human would be better fit to live alone than you.  _

Lance dropped his clothes and slammed his palms over his ears. “Shut up, Keith. Not now. Do your Demon shit to someone else for a while.”

“Why? You’re so fun to put down. You believe it so easily.”

“That’s because I’m better at it than you.”

Keith stopped. He plopped into reality, paw tucked under his chin and looked up at Lance curiously with all four eyes. “That is quite the talent.”

Lance opened his mouth to fight back, but instead was surprised by a laugh that burst from him. It wasn’t the kind of laugh that tickled and bubbled into joy. It was harsh and loud and painful. “I guess it kinda is.”

Out of all the things to agree on, his self-deprecation was not what he imagined they’d bond over. Though, it was a subject quite firmly inside a Demon’s set of interests. Lance shook his head, a sharp smile cutting across his face. 

Keith hummed and nodded. “I will admit that your best quality is that you understand how worthless you are.”

“Yeah, good bonding moment. Glad we became besties. Now, I have a Sanctuary to escape. Feel free to stay here; it won’t be occupied.”

“I go where you go.” Keith stretched like a cat, digging his claws into the rug as his butt rose in the air.

If Keith said that  _ one more time. _ “Fine. Then at least disappear.” 

Immediately Keith was gone.  _ One favor owed, one debt to be repaid,  _ Keith’s voice grated between his ears.  _ Going quite in debt, aren’t you? _

Lance ignored him to concentrate on packing his suitcase. For the most part Keith left him alone, only piping up now and then to say something rude. By the time he was fully packed, the ceremony downstairs was in full chorus. Hymns rang up sweet and hypnotic. 

Another scream penetrated his walls and he paused. Shaking his head, he ignored it. That was stupid. There was no way that they-

Still...

He grabbed his bag and ran down the stairs two at a time. That scream wasn’t familiar, it couldn’t be. Ice filled his stomach and crystallized around his heart. Pidge was safe at home with their mom, right?

Pidge’s words about being followed bubbled up inside him even as he tried to push them down. The horrifyingly familiar scream echoed around him and he ran faster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo, special thanks to Mic for taking over beating this!!! its going to need a lot of work from this point so things might slow down, but I'm really excited to make this the way it is in my head ~~
> 
> There's art for this again by [Jilli-bean](https://jilli-bean.tumblr.com/) and omg look at him!! looks sooo goood!!!
> 
> I'm also on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd) and I'm actively posting on my pseudo: [SailUnchartedWaters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlassAlice/pseuds/SailUnchartedWaters)


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